Through Steel and Blood
by bren97122
Summary: A nation of men has risen. One unlike anything the world has ever seen. Armed with powerful technology and an iron will, the Rynn Commonwealth turns its eyes to an unsuspecting Tamriel. War and chaos are coming to the empires of elves and men. In the end, it's not a war. It's a remaking. Features numerous OCs, including a whole OC nation. Rated M for violence.
1. Chapter 1: Landfall

" _And so it had been foretold by the Elder Scrolls, that 30 years after the defeat of the dragons, a nation of men shall rise to challenge age old empires and remake Tamriel in their vision. Not through infernal magic or the machinations of Daedra- but through their own gods of science and technology._

 _I see faceless golden men spilling blood in the most ancient cities. I see great armies of men spitting fire and metal, as their faces and hearts burn with hatred. I see an empire already in its death throes, finally succumbing to the unending tide of steel and fury that will bring the new order._

 _Many will resist them. Many will try to defend the old order of the world._

 _And they will fail. These men will bring even the most ancient and powerful races to heel._

 _So it has been foretold by the Elder Scrolls."_

\- Imperial Scholar Ozymandias Parmenion, during the Dragon Crisis, 4E 201

 _4E 231_

 _Port of Lillandril, northwest Summerset Isles_

It was mid spring in Summerset. Normally, this was a time for harvests to be restarted and for the merchants of the Altmer port cities to busy themselves with the influx of trading vessels from mainland Tamriel.

Instead, in the late morning, the elves of this particular port city saw something that made many scratch their heads and point in wonder at the horizon.

It was what could only be described as a vast armada of ships of varying size. But they were unlike any ships any elves or Imperial visitors to the city had ever seen. Most of them were huge- dwarfing even the mightiest ships of the Imperial Navy and merchant fleets. They were sleek, with the warm rays of the sun reflecting off the iron and steel plating that lined the sides of the ships. Most the vessels had two or three masts, but the sails were not propelling these giants forward.

Instead, a pair of large paddle wheels on either side churned the crystal clear waters, with an iron smokestack belching out noxious fumes. Each ship was powered by this method and each churned relentlessly forward. And each of these great ships flew a flag of sky blue, with a golden sword through a golden cog in the middle, with this symbol flanked by curved grain bundles on either side.

This was the flag of the Rynn Commonwealth.

This was the flag of the nation that would change Tamriel forever.

At the time, many stood in wonder of the mysterious ships that neatly lined up a few hundred yards from the docks and dropped anchor. The Thalmor garrison at Lillandril did not know what to do next. No one had come off from the ships and their intentions were not made clear.

The military leaders of the garrison were debating sending out a boat with an emissary to the fleet when at approximately 12:04 PM, when most of the people in the city were sitting down for a midday meal, the mortars aboard three of the ships fired.

The first shell landed in a busy plaza where over a hundred elves were gathered to eat. The shell killed 56 outright and wounded 80.

By 12:30, the city of glass and stone was ablaze.

The city's governor sent a courier on the fastest mount he could find to the Aldmeri Dominion capital of Alinor with a simple dispatch:

" _They've done it._

 _The Rynn have attacked. We need help._

 _Auri-El protect us all."_

* * *

 _Aboard the steamship_ Dawn Hammer

 _1:00 PM_

Rynn sailors stripped down to the waist ran back and forth across the mortar deck. Superiors barked orders and enlisted men furiously loaded and reloaded the pair of bronze mortars that rained death on the elves of Lillandril.

Further up the ship, the men and women of the 88th Commonwealth Infantry Battalion emerged from below decks, where they had spent over two weeks sailing from the naval port of Novongarde back home in the Commonwealth. They were all dressed in their standard battle dresses- long coats that covered a good portion of the front as well as the back of each soldier and ended with an upside down V cut around the boots, with heavy canvas trousers protecting their legs. Each coat had a light chain mail woven into it, enough to barely block a sword or arrow. The troopers wore their thin gloves and had their round helmet and mask combo, which covered up to the nose. Every regiment had their uniform dyed the agreed upon regimental colors. For the 88th, the colors were a deep royal blue for the main color and golden for the trim.

Each trooper carried a brand new rifle, a new breech-loading model to replace the muzzle loaders. Built just for this occasion. This long rifle was known as the Type 6 and offered numerous advantages to the earlier muzzle loaders. Smokeless powder, solid cartridges, quick and easy reloads, just to name a few.

The Rynn were the first to utilize firearms in all of Nirn's history. And they had quickly learned how to use them and use them well.

To complement their rifle, each man carried 40 .303 caliber bullets. Their Type 6s could only hold a single bullet at a time, so each trooper was taught how to shoot quickly, accurately, and how to keep the fire up. Reloading was very simple- just pull down the lever, take out the spent cartridge, toss it away, push in a new one, and push the lever back up. So easy, an elf could figure it out.

Each man carried a bayonet and combat knife. The bayonet was a stubby knife in its own right, but was designed for slipping onto the bayonet lug at the end of the rifle. Now the combat knife was a different story. Thick and heavy, the knife was composed of steel alloy and mass produced in the Commonwealth war factories. That was not to say the quality was poor. Far from it. The blade was thick, wide, about six and a half inches long, and ended in a tanto style point. There was a long handguard, with one end of it curving over the user's knuckles and a comfortable grip to ensure maximum ease of use in combat. The knife was designed for prying into enemy armor. Especially elven armor. Each trooper wished they could be issued one of the fancy five round pistols, but those were for officers only.

Right on cue, their commanding officer emerged from below deck. He wore a single breasted coat with a high collar, pins of rank clearly visible on his chest, collar, and high peaked officer's cap. His trousers were crisp and well pleated. Like his men, his uniform was blue and gold. He was very easy to spot on the battlefield- which was the idea.

His name was Adrian Arnaldus, or more properly, Lieutenant Colonel Arnaldus. Unlike everyone under his command, he was not a Rynn native. He was born in the far away province of Skyrim. His mother was a native Nord, while his father, who he described as simply "a hero," was an Imperial originally from Cyrodiil, but settled in Skyrim for whatever reason. Adrian was a tall man, who towered over most of the other officers. He was lean, but strong, something not evident when one looked at him. His hair was black, just like both of his parents', but he shared his mother's dazzling green eyes. They were the most noticeable features on his gaunt face, which always held an expression of grim seriousness and never betrayed emotions of any kind. As for a hairstyle, he always kept it close cut- he did not want any possible distractions in battle. He was renowned for keeping his cool in the most adverse of battles. On his hip rested a unique sheathed sword, the only thing on his uniform not regulation. The sword was not the standard issue double edged, tapered officer's sword. It had a long, thin blade made out the finest steel many have seen. The handguard and pommel were composed of actual dragon bones. Adrian called the sword "Dragonbane" and stated "it was a gift from my father. Given to me before I went out into the world. It protected him many times and he told me that it should do the same for me."

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," he said with a curt nod in the general direction of the two hundred troopers assembled before him.

"You all know why we are assembled here. That I am sure of."

He turned to face out to the burning elven city. A grin crept across his face as he took in the beautiful carnage.

He turned back to his men. "We are here to bring war on the elves!"

The troopers shouted their agreement and Adrian waited for them to calm before speaking again.

"In a few minutes, we will all be boarding the landing crafts and storm landing zone prime." He nodded at the white sand beach near the docks.

"From there, the 88th is tasked to take and hold the main archives building and take anything that looks important. Once we're done with that, we burn the place to the ground. Any questions?"

There were none. Everyone just wanted to get out there.

Adrian checked his pocket watch. It was time to begin the landing.

"88th - it's time to go."

The troopers did not need further encouragement. They all quickly marched to the waiting landing crafts hanging by chains off the port side of the _Dawn_. Once everyone was situated, pneumatically operated chains hissed out air and the crafts descended (less than gently) into the water.

* * *

It is unclear where the events leading up to the Rynn invasion began. But ask any Commonwealth citizen and they will tell you the story of the day that still burns in the minds of every citizen.

It was on a cool day in 4E 131, one hundred years ago. In the bustling capital city of Dracka, at the very top of the High Mage's Council towers, ten of the finest Rynn wizards stood in a perfectly round circle, hands outstretched and chanting arcane words in unison. Uncanny energies flowed around their hands and danced before their very eyes. These men were conducting a bizarre, unholy ritual to make a permanent connection with the realm of Oblivion.

It was an idea seeded in the minds of the Rynn nobility by agents of the Aldmeri Dominion. It was a show of good will, really. The elves promised the Rynn that completing this ritual would give the Rynn a highly potent source of magic energy. One that could not be found naturally anywhere in the world.

No one found it suspicious when the elves cleared their embassy a day before the ritual began.

No one found it suspicious when every elf in Rynn was recalled back home on order of the Dominion in the days leading up to the ritual.

At 4:00 PM, a massive explosion destroyed the mage's tower and four city blocks surrounding it. This explosion unleashed a massive wave of deadly energy that destroyed some, spared others at random. This wave reached most of Rynn and caused 2/3 of the population to simply cease to exist.

The following months were times of chaos, hardship, and increased cynicism amongst the survivors. Their supposed allies- both elven and men, spurred them. The small nation was forced to sustain itself with its shattered infrastructure and devastated lands.

Rynn would have collapsed had it not been for Arthur Mikroth. He was an inventor and engineer by trade in a society that constantly quested for better and better forms of magic. He introduced machines that ensured maximum yields from the remaining farmlands, vehicles that would allow faster movement across the scarred landscape, and weapons that allowed the remaining Rynn soldiers to secure their borders against raider incursions.

It took decades but Rynn had recovered and reunited under the banner of the Commonwealth. To ensure that the disaster that dogged the Rynn for decades was never repeated, the first act of the Commonwealth was to ban the practice of magic and magical items entirely.

And no one argued. It was technology that saved them from destruction. It was magic that nearly ended them.

By the time of the Dragon Crisis, the Commonwealth was the only nation on Tamriel that was truly industrialized. Electric lights lit the paved streets of Dracka, factories worked day and night to mass produce goods, and the army drilled its troops with firearms and cannons. At sea, steam powered ships prowled the waters around Rynn and destroyed any challengers.

No other nation paid them mind. The Dominion was too arrogant to believe the Rynn could come back from the brink so quickly and the Empire had other matters at hand.

Ever since the disaster, every single man, woman, and child in Rynn was united by one feeling.

Hatred. Bitter, resentful hatred for the Dominion. And by extent, all Altmer.

It was they who first convinced the mages to undertake the forbidden ritual. It was they who spurned their requests for aid and laughed at their suffering.

Hatred was channeled into a feverous call to arms across all echelons of Rynn society. For decades, the Commonwealth's newly built factories churned out war material to arm the swelling ranks of the Commonwealth Army. For years, tacticians and strategists drew up plans for the perfect invasion of the Summerset Isles. But even then, generations of soldiers came and went without ever leaving the Commonwealth.

And the Rynn were just itching to spill elf blood. Even immediately after the disaster, the writers and orators of Rynn would disseminate words full of wrath and contempt to the crowds of exasperated survivors.

A consensus was reached. The Altmer were stupid, dirty, brutish, and violent. They were no better than animals.

"And like an invasive pest, the 'high elves' as they call themselves in their endless arrogance, must be exterminated," wrote noted statesman Jesen Ivorstock.

The propaganda machine of the Commonwealth was a powerful beast that could always churn out something to whip the people into a fervor or make them swell with national pride or a sense of superiority.

Following the disaster in Dracka, it became clear that the only people that would be helping the Rynn would be themselves. Humans. Humans that were pushed to the brink, but would rebound anyway. Philosophers and scholars in the years to come would come to a similar thought whenever they penned a treatise- that men were superior to the elves.

Who founded and ruled the greatest empire in the history of Tamriel? Humans.

Who suffered countless setbacks, wars, and crisis', and yet always rebounded while the elves stumbled around praying to ancient gods and pandering around dusty spell tomes? Humans.

And despite the doings of the Dominion, which race remained numerous and dominant across Tamriel? Humans.

It was obvious, it seemed to the Rynn. Humanity's destiny was to bring all the world to heel. To conquer all before them and remake the world in their vision.

But the humans of Tamriel were factitious and still clung to their ancient alliances or antiquated magic.

The conquest of the Dominion would be the first step. The first step towards a glorious new order that the Commonwealth would usher in.

* * *

As an officer in the Commonwealth Army, Adrian felt personally responsible for ensuring success in the upcoming invasion and safeguarding the lives of his troopers.

No, he was not going to try to seize this city all on his own. He and his men would do their part to the best of their abilities.

 _And kill every elf that gets in our way_ , he thought to himself as he leaned forward to keep ocean spray out of his eyes. Adrian had his hands on the hilt of his sword. He could not wait to finally get a chance to punish the Altmer for their crimes against mankind- and for the crimes against his family.

He peered over the sides of his landing craft to gaze at the awesome sight of nearly 400 landing craft beginning to depart for their designated landing zones. Each was packed, depending on the size and purpose, with an upward of 100 men each.

The white sand beach that was his landing group's target came into view. He could barely make out the forms of elven troops forming up on the seawall with bows and ballista.

Soon, each craft came to the landing zones. They were forced to drop their landing ramps down into the shallowest part of the water they could manage to fit into without becoming stuck. The ramp dropped, splashing water that soaked the boots and trousers of troops in the front.

The archers and ballistae opened fire. Most of the projectiles fell short. Those that made it usually hit empty air or sea where a soldier had been standing just moments before.

Adrian gripped his sword and drew it. With his left hand, he reached for the dark leather holster where his pistol was kept. He closed his hand around the polished wood grip and drew it in a single, fluid motion. He pulled back the charging handle at the top of pistol, just below the sights. He took a moment to check the magazine situated in front of the trigger guard and confirmed he had a full load of five .45 caliber rounds.

He raised his sword over his head. Turning to his men, he shouted over the din of the landing "88th! We come here to fight! Don't let me down!"

He was one of the first people onto the beach. Now, fireballs hurled from the hands of Thalmor mages joined the volleys of arrows and ballista. The magic flames were slow and imprecise, but could wipe out a whole squad in an instant.

Adrian raised his sword again and pointed it forward as half ran, half trudged through the foamy surf.

"In the name of the Commonwealth, in the name of all mankind- _ADVANCE!_ " he shouted at the top of his lungs as the troops following in his wake roared in approval.

The Rynn troopers made their way to shore and onto relatively dry ground as projectiles rained around them. The elven defenders were readjusting their trajectory and began to score hits. Adrian saw several of his men fall to arrows hitting vulnerable parts of their body.

 _They've trained their whole lives and traveled thousands of miles for this only to get cut down on the beach_ , he thought to himself.

He waved Dragonbane over his head. "Double time it to that ridge! We need to get out of the line of fire!" he shouted.

The troopers scrambled to the relative safety of a nearby low ridge that offered just enough cover to keep them out of the archer fire. Dozens of troops hugged the dirt wall, knees drawn up and cradling their rifles.

Adrian looked out at the beach in dismay at the sight of a few hundred dead bodies from different units, all fallen in the initial assault forward. But, there were no wounded left behind and Adrian saw more than a few troopers dragging or carrying wounded comrades to cover. Other armies may leave their wounded behind, but the Rynn knew they had to take care of their own.

Close to 6,000 troopers had been dispatched to landing zone prime. There were secondary, tertiary, quaternary landing zones and each had a force of 2,000, 1,500, and 500 dispatched to storm the beaches. At prime, a total of 18 units had been fielded, with the 88th being one of the smaller units.

Under Adrian's tactical and military leadership, the 88th had been promoted from a frontline assault unit to smaller, specialized unit. Their jobs involved being deployed away from the main assault to attack special targets. The mission today was to seize the archives building, but in theory, the 88th should have been deployed with the other specialized units at landing zone quaternary. But, Commander-General Errol Zigus had other ideas today.

Adrian looked around to see the other units close by. He could tell units on sight most of the time by looking at the colors of their uniforms or any non-regulation symbols or items some units adapted. During the rush to cover, each unit had stayed together enough to make the beach look like a mural of colors- some bright and boisterous, others dull and muted.

Immediately to the right of him, Adrian could see the steel grey and black of the 13th Assault Infantry, known colloquially as "the Sword Breakers," so called because they were the textbook assault unit- run in, sustain casualties, and destroy any opposition up close and personal. They had the most troops present and would certainly be doing most of the street to street fighting.

To his left was the antithesis of the 13th. He could see a line of purple coats with a white stripe diagonal across the back. These the 4th Infantry, also known as "the Royals," a unit of superbly disciplined and drilled troops who were experts at infantry maneuvers and defense. No doubt their objective today was to take hold of critical location and hold it against counterattacks. As if that would be a challenge for them.

With an audible huffing, Aldo Eckstrom, the radiographer of Adrian's command squad, took his place in cover next to Adrian. In each unit, troops were broken up into 10-12 man squads. The commanding officer had a specialized command squad at their disposal- the members of which were handpicked by the commander and usually carried out specific roles integral to commanding and managing the unit.

Eckstrom wiped sweat away from his forehead, but even then it poured into the man's icy blue eyes and flecked his thick beard, which was still partly visible even with the half mask he wore. Carrying the heavy wireless pack along with all his gear was no easy task.

Adrian tapped him on the shoulder.

"Wire the _Dawn_ for me, Eckstrom," he commanded.

"Yes, sir," he replied as he (gratefully) took the wireless off his back and put it on the ground. He fiddled with dials and handed Adrian the handset.

"This is Lieutenant-Colonel Arnaldus. We are pinned down on the beach and we need your guns to target the seawall where the elves are positioned. There's no way we can move forward without being cut down," he said over the din of explosions and shouts.

Back on the _Dawn Hammer_ , the radio operator relayed the message to the gunnery crew on deck.

The chief gunnery officer heeded the request without hesitation. Withdrawing a mathematical instrument and spyglass from his satchel, he walked to the edge of the deck and did a few calculations in his head.

He then put away his delicate instruments and barked a few orders to the crew. The gunnery crew adjusted their trajectories and powder loads. The guns fired an instant later. The whole process, from message received to firing, took five minutes.

Adrian covered his ears as he saw a pair of flaming projectiles streak overhead. Not even five seconds later, the mortars hit their mark.

The seawall and almost every elf atop it was obliterated. Those that were not vaporized by the blast fell to their deaths or were hit by flying debris. From his position, Adrian saw a charred leg with shreds of armor still attached to it flutter down to the beach. As the dust began to settle, Adrian and his fellow officers ordered their men forward. With assorted battle cries, they surged over cover and bolted up the stone staircases leading up from the beach or up the newly created ramps formed from rubble.

A small contingent of men stayed behind to help the wounded, many of whom insisted on joining their fellows despite arrows sticking out of their chests and limbs.

* * *

Ganmon Jorius, an Altmer warrior, coughed heavily as he struggled to regain his footing. Whatever weapons these humans were using, they were certainly powerful.

He grabbed his sword and regrouped with the remaining Altmer still alive near the wall. Most of the archers were dead and the wall could no longer be a defendable position. His superior shouted that they would have to hold the humans here for as long as possible.

As Ganmon joined his fellow warriors in a neat formation, he thought _how hard can that be?_

Each elf drew their sword and shield, if they had one. The remainder either conjured up a spell of their choosing or clenched a fist in anticipation. He could hear the ugly shouts of the human invaders as they surged up the stairs. His grip tightened on the elven sword in his hand. He could not wait to plunge it into the soft flesh of these men who dared strike at his home.

He saw the first of them make it to the top and rush forward, but they stopped short and waited for their comrades to join them. Once the invaders were assembled, they only seemed to have a slight numerical advantage over the elves, but certainly did not seem to have any other edge. They seemed lightly armored for a battle and carried primitive wooden weapons- probably some type of spear.

A tall human stepped in front of a large group of invaders and shouted something in his language while waving his slightly curved sword.

* * *

"Firing lines!" Adrian shouted to his troopers. The other Rynn units around him followed suit. The troopers had practiced this every day since they were teenagers. Now, it was time to put the training to the test.

Each squad formed up together. Half of the troops dropped down into a crouch and aimed their rifles forward while the rest remained standing up and aimed forward as well. The final image was thousands of perfectly formed lines, all aiming at the elves in unison.

"Hold your fire until I order!" Adrian shouted.

* * *

His superior gave the order to advance. Ganmon was in the second row of warriors, but desperately wished to be in the front of the action.

The elven warriors started out walking at a steady pace, but quickly advanced in a full on sprint towards the attackers. Each and every one of them wanted to destroy these damn humans who had attacked their ancient city.

* * *

"Steady now!" Adrian said.

* * *

The elves were only a hundred feet from the humans. The forward rows of the formation readied their swords for attack.

"Who are you to attack my home, my people?" Ganmon shouted toward the humans. "You will regret coming here!"

* * *

" _FIRE!_ " Adrian bellowed with a downward slash of his sword.

The crouched ranks opened fire, the first shots any of them have taken at real, life elven targets.

As they reloaded, the standing ranks fired. As the standing ranks reloaded, the crouched ranks fired and so on. This technique, while simple, would keep a wall of gunfire going as long as possible.

His troopers were the first to open fire and the other units soon followed his lead.

* * *

As Ganmon raised his sword above his head for a downward swing, the top of his head exploded as a bullet punched through his forehead. His lifeless body fell straight down, tripping the warrior behind him.

The human's weapons unleashed destruction on the elven ranks. Scores fell in the first two volleys. Scores more fell as the humans kept up the fire.

* * *

Adrian raised his pistol up and fired randomly into the attacking elves. They were still advancing, even though hundreds had fallen dead or wounded in a matter of seconds. The elven counterattack was shattered in minutes. Confronted by these new weapons of war unlike anything they had ever seen, the elves began to turn and run.

Bullets punched through the ornate elven breastplates, destroying armor that had existed for centuries and had been passed down for generations. Helmets provided no protection as bullets hit their targets in their exposed faces or just passed through the thin metal.

Elven armor was good against deflecting swords or arrows. The Rynn guns carried much more force and impact than the strongest sword or bow could hope to deliver.

In a total of eight minutes, 3/4 of the elven defenders were dead or dying. The Rynn had cut through them like a farmer cuts down grain with a scythe. The remaining elves had dropped their weapons and were trying to run away. Many were cut down as they stumbled over the dead and wounded and the few that did escape told a horrific tale of bizarre weapons that spat out fire and grey smoke and how their proud warriors were hit by invisible projectiles that stopped them dead in their tracks as if they had just run headfirst into a stone wall.

The Rynn lost exactly zero men in the opening skirmish. Adrian reloaded his pistol and ordered everyone to stand back up and move forward.

"Fix bayonets," he added as he executed a wounded Altmer with a pistol shot to the head.

The Rynn troopers moved forward in a disorganized fashion that vaguely resembled a line, stepping over the broken bodies of their opponents as they moved into the city proper. Any wounded elf was promptly put out of their misery with a bayonet thrust to the neck or chest. The ammo was reserved for Altmer still standing. Occasionally, a trooper would bend over to pick up a discarded sword, dagger, or trinket that struck their fancy and slip it into their belt or pockets.

And so, the Rynn turned their eyes to the burning city.


	2. Chapter 2: Knowledge

_In the Altmer capital of Alinor_

 _3:00 PM_

"This is not true. It simply cannot be true."

Grand Lord Telind Carene, the Aldmeri Dominion's head of state, read and reread the desperate missive the courier from Lillandril had shoved past his guards to deliver.

"My lord, governor Hyril requests all available forces be dispatched to aid in repelling the human raiders."

"He must be overreacting. These must be some very bold pirate raiders. I'm sure the Thalmor garrison there is more than equipped to handle a pirate raid."

The doors to his office were thrust open. General Ulari, Carene's senior military advisor walked in, flanked by two stone faced guards.

"My lord… there is a matter that requires your decision."

* * *

 _Outside the Lillandril archives_

 _3:30 PM_

"This place is dead," Eckstrom said as he stepped over a broken elven corpse in the rubble of a storefront. "Literally and figuratively."

Adrian nodded and twirled his pistol around his fingers. "That means we're doing our job."

The 88th walked through the shattered streets towards their objective. They had encountered no resistance along their route and only a few panicked civilians. The once beautiful port city was steadily being reduced to ash and rubble. Adrian knew that the other units were not having such an easy time navigating to their objectives as gunshots could be heard popping in the air and reverberating throughout the wide streets of Lillandril.

"If my map is correct… this is the building we are looking for," said the pleasant, high pitched voice of the only woman in his command squad.

First Sergeant Mira Durstead walked between Adrian and Eckstrom, holding out the ancient city map they had packed for the invasion. Mira was only 25 years old, but an exceptional shot with a rifle (even though her rifle was almost as long as she was tall). Strands of her shiny brown hair hung loose under her helmet and fell in front of her lovely, bright hazel eyes. This woman could have been an artist's muse back in Dracka. Instead, she was out here with a rifle slung on her back and a thick coat covering her body.

Durstead had trained for combat since she was 12 years old. She had proven herself to be an extremely capable soldier- in many cases, more adept than her male counterparts. She was also tremendously loyal, diligent, and followed orders to the letter. This is why Adrian chose her as an adjunct.

Adrian stopped and his troopers followed his lead. He looked at the curving archway down the street, golden with elaborate designs rimming it.

"That looks like the entrance to the archives as I've seen it," he said.

But the entrance was blocked by wooden planks, broken blocks of stone, and a few broken pieces of furniture. Adrian thought it must have been debris piled in front of the building by the opening bombardment.

That was before a massive rain of glass arrows flew out from behind the rubble.

The Rynn troopers were rooted to the spot before Adrian shouted for them to find cover. A dozen men were cut down by the volley.

"Get out of here, men of Rynn!" an Altmer warrior shouted from behind the barricade. "We would rather die than let you into this building!"

A second barrage of arrows flew towards the troopers as Adrian ran for cover behind a broken fountain and collapsed pillar. Eckstrom, Mira, and a handful of troopers joined him. Adrian looked around and saw that the men he was looking for.

"Arvstad! Quill!" he called out to the two men crouched behind the pillar holding the massive gun and its ammo.

Tanner Arvstad and Milo Quill, young men who looked like they could have been brothers and worked together like they were brothers, quickly half crouched, half sprinted out of cover and dodged arrows to reach Adrian.

"I need you two to set up your Reciprocator by that broken statue," he motioned to the shattered marble statue of what was once a proud elf in full armor holding a sword aloft, "and cut down the elves behind that barricade."

Understandably, the gunners looked less than thrilled with this task.

"We'll cover you," he said with a reassuring nod. "After our first volley, get out there as fast as you can."

Without another word to them, Adrian shouted "88th! Ready weapons!"

Hundreds of rifles were propped up on pieces of cover or on the ground and pointed at the barricade.

"Fire!" Adrian shouted.

The rifles fired in nigh perfect unison. The arrow attack ceased for a faithful moment as Arvstad ran out with the heavy Reciprocator and its necessary components slung over his right shoulder while Quill trailed behind carrying two metal cans full of linked .303 rounds.

Arvstad dropped to a crouch and propped up the Reciprocator on its short tripod on the chest of the fallen statue. Quill unwound a belt of ammo and fed it into the gun's chamber. The elven archers began to target them, but it was too late.

Arvstad had a target in sight and pulled the trigger.

The Rowley Arms Reciprocator, affectionately known as the "Roar" amongst the Commonwealth's troopers due to its name and the terrible sound it made when fired, was a weapon that could squeeze off around 540 rounds per minute. The sheer volume of fire could shred most cover and tear through even the strongest enchanted armor. The recoil operated fire mechanism was not a complex one, which made it easy to operate and maintain by the gunners. It was very simple in outward appearance too- a long, smooth barrel with a ringed heat shield along part of the barrel ending with a conical muzzle brake to dampen some of its recoil. The barrel was attached to a boxy, rectangular body with a curved wooden grip and a single piece of metal for the trigger.

The elves that attempted to defend the archives that day witnessed the potency of this beautifully simple weapon as its bullets shredded the wood of their fortifications and even punched through the stone and cement some tried to shelter behind. Bullets tore through armor and minced flesh and bone. Blood splattered on the beautiful golden arch and coated the ancient wooden doors to the archives. Bodies of the dead and grievously wounded fell onto the steps of the grand building.

The Reciprocator clicked to signal that it was out of ammo. The gunners had burned through an entire 150 round belt. The barrel of the gun glowed red hot and radiated heat. Hazy smoke slowly drifted out of the barrel.

Adrian stood up and his men followed. He motioned to Arvstad and Quill. "You two stay out here. 8th and 11th squad stay with the Reciprocator and try to set up a perimeter. Keep your radio on and tell me immediately if you spot elves making their way here."

There was a short chorus of "sir" as the troopers complied with their orders.

"The rest of you- on me," Adrian said as he drew his sword and pistol.

The 88th broke through the now torn apart barricade and approached the remaining elven defenders. Most of them were dead, but there were survivors. Torn, bloodied bodies that still moaned, cursed, and withered in pain.

"Take care of them," Adrian said grimly.

His troops fanned out, drawing knives and bayonets or flipping their rifles over so the butt faced forward.

Adrian walked over to an elf who had armor markings that indicated him to be a superior officer. He faced Adrian, his eyes full of malice. He was propped up against a wall.

"Damn you. May Oblivion take you before this day his done," the officer said before coughing up a spray of blood. The elf was attempting to staunch the steady flow of blood from his abdomen, which had been torn open by a Reciprocator bullet.

"You'll be heading there before me, elf," Adrian growled as he gripped Dragonbane in both of his hands. With a single sideways slash, Adrian sent the elf's head tumbling across the bloodstained ground.

"Ha! Get up from this!" Mira shouted as she furiously smashed the butt of her rifle into the back of an elf that was attempting to crawl away. The elf's skull was properly caved in after about ten strikes.

"Bastard," she mumbled as she put her rifle away, now with a crimson red stock.

She saw Adrian looking at her with surprise on his face.

"Just practicing my close range combat, sir. You know I am a ranged fighting type of person."

She looked around and saw an elven bow lying next to its former owner, who was missing part of his face. Mira grabbed the beautifully crafted bow he had left behind.

"Light, nice balance too," she remarked to no one in particular. She turned back to Adrian.

"Permission to commandeer this enemy weapon, sir? For research purposes, of course."

Adrian chuckled. "Granted, first sergeant. But I want you on your rifle if we run into any major trouble."

Mira saluted. "Of course, sir." She kicked over the archer's body and retrieved his mostly full quiver of glass arrows.

"All of you- finish up what you're doing and head over to the doors," Adrian ordered five minutes later.

Each of the huge double doors were carved over 600 years ago from two oak trees each. A pair of elven woodworkers spent weeks carving intricate patterns and beautiful flowing script in the traditional Altmer language. The runes that ringed the doors spoke of the importance of knowledge and curiosity.

"And that is how you open a door," Adrian remarked to Mira as two burly troopers used sledgehammers to smash through the sealed doors. The pair of troopers kicked away the shards of wood that remained and followed the main force inside.

The archives had one large chamber that held the city's most precious knowledge. It was maintained by four archivists, who spent their days poring over ancient texts and taking notes of the writings of men and elves.

When the Rynn attacked, they were given a force of warriors for protection and quickly set to work hiding their most precious texts from the invaders. They all stopped what they were doing when the troopers appeared in the upper gantries and aimed their rifles at them.

Adrian stepped forward. His gaunt face flickered in and out of shadow in the light of the oil lamps suspended above the archive chamber.

"Who's in charge here?" he asked.

A bearded elf in dark blue robes stepped forward. "I am Hythor Tiirin, senior archivist. You must leave at once," he said, trying to be defiant even as his voice shook.

Adrian smiled. He went down the stairs to the archives and motioned for Mira and Trooper Cole Tanhause to follow him.

He walked up to Hythor and stood inches from his face.

"I have very specific instructions to retrieve certain sensitive books my superiors believe to be housed in here. I do not intend to leave empty handed."

"There is nothing here for you, human."

Adrian drew his pistol and pressed it against Hythor's forehead. "Wrong answer," he said as he thumbed back the pistol's hammer.

Hythor's breathing became shallow, but he looked at Adrian straight in the eye.

"Have your underlings retrieve all the texts you have relating to the race known as the Dwemer. Or, I can kill you right now and find them myself. Which will take very long. I can be very patient, but today I just am not feeling very patient."

"If you cooperate, I may consider letting all of you just go back to your reading," he added.

Hythor looked at a female elf standing near a desk. "Elenna. Please go retrieve our texts on the Dwemer," he said softly.

"Take this man with you. He can read your language. Don't hold out on us," Adrian said as he nodded at Tanhause. Wordlessly, Tanhause followed Elenna, who looked back worryingly at Hythor.

"Thank you for being reasonable," Adrian said.

Hythor kicked Adrian in the shin, which caused him to momentarily drop his arm. Hythor flicked his wrist and bought up a dazzling strobe of lightning around his right hand. Then, he dropped like a sack of bricks as Adrian sent a bullet through his forehead that exploded out the back of his skull.

Elenna stopped and looked back at her dead mentor before Tanhause grabbed her by the arm and pushed her onward.

Adrian shook his head. "And what _exactly_ were you planning to do, elf?" he implored the corpse as a halo of blood formed around his head.

"You could've shocked me, but you had about one hundred guns trained on you."

Adrian looked at the two remaining archivists. "Do you know what your master was planning to do?" he asked.

They were both silent.

Adrian composed himself and said "just don't try anything like that and we'll get through this."

Almost on cue, one of the elves produced a spectral, glowing bow in his hands. The result of some conjuration spell, no doubt. His fellow suddenly launched a massive bolt of fire that exploded near the ceiling, sending most of the troopers running for cover.

Mira dropped onto one knee and bought up her newly acquired bow. She fired a single arrow that pierced the chest of the pyromaniac. She then rolled behind a chair to avoid the rapid fire arrows from the phantom bow. The other elf ran backwards, retreating further into the archives. He now slung shards of ice from his fingertips to keep the troopers back.

He did not get much further after Mira sent an arrow into his kneecap. The elf fell fast first, but tried to scramble back up.

Adrian ran up to him and fired three times into his chest. The elf twitched still. Adrian let one bullet go into his head. He was motionless after that.

He walked back to the front of the chamber. Tanhause had Elenna held against him with one arm around her neck, the other positioning the point of his combat knife into the soft flesh at the side of her neck. The knife was being softly pressed into her skin and a small trickle of blood flowed down her neck. At her feet were close to a dozen leather bound books.

"Let her go," Adrian ordered. "What are the books she got?" he asked Tanhause.

"They're all about the deep elves, sir. Books about their machines, technology, and the locations and descriptions of their cities."

Adrian nodded. "Good. Gather them and prepare to torch this place."

He looked at Elenna. "As for you…" he raised his pistol deftly and pulled the trigger.

It clicked. He had used his entire magazine. Adrian looked at his pistol and then looked at the quaking elven archivist before him. He holstered his pistol.

"Looks like it's your lucky day," he said to her with a soft smile. "Get out of here."

She whimpered and bolted for a back door. A few troopers raised their rifles, but Adrian held up an open hand to stop them.

"Now, if we have everything, let's get out of here and head for the designated forward camp. I heard we have a full dinner being prepared for us tonight"

Adrian turned and walked up the stairs as his troopers tossed candlesticks and knocked down oil lamps onto the bookshelves and the desks.

Ten minutes later, the 88th left the archive as spouts of flame shot out of the windows. A massive fire began to engulf the buildings around the archives as Adrian led his troopers towards the city center.


	3. Chapter 3: Gathering Storm

_Alinor_

 _3:30 PM_

Three whole armies were recalled from their posts across Summerset and were converging on Lillandril. General Ulari himself personally led the most elite legion of Thalmor, numbering well over 12,000 of the finest warriors the Dominion had trained and armed. In total, Ulari had mustered 45,000 warriors to retake the port city and punish those damnable humans for their arrogant foray into Altmer lands.

In his office, Lord Carene had met with scores of tactical advisors and military leaders. Each had spent hours drawing up plans of attack and helping him coordinate with the governors and generals across Summerset. His personal advisor had suggested sending a dispatch to the Empire to request aid.

Carene considering sacking the man right then and there.

"We do not need the help of the Imperials," he snapped at his aide.

"We are Mer. We have fought off worse. By tomorrow- these men will be destroyed and the nations of Tamriel will know their rightful place once more."

He looked out the window at the towers and sprawling stone districts of his capital.

"Then, we will strike at their home."

 _Lillandril_

 _8:00 PM_

It had taken the Commonwealth troopers just over 12 hours to fully take the city. All Thalmor warriors in the city were dead or running. The elves lost 6,082 warriors out of the 9,500 strong garrison. The true amount of civilian deaths would never be fully known. Some would later say that the figure was in the upwards of 4,000.

The Rynn lost 656 and had about 1,000 wounded. Every single objective was accomplished and there was no resistance to be found by sunset. The governor of Lillandril had not fled the city and the troopers of the 65th "Steel Legion" Infantry found him in his personal office. They were ordered to capture the governor- if possible. The commanding officer of the 65th decided that capture was not possible before stabbing him in the stomach with the governor's own sword and then ordering several troopers to toss him out a window, an order that was eagerly complied.

By nightfall, the Commonwealth forces finally had time to sit down and relax. For most, it was the first time since breakfast aboard their troop ships early in the morning.

Once the city was secured, all of the invasion force's logistical and support staff moved in. These included engineers, mechanics, medical staff, various academics and scholars, and most importantly at the moment, cooks.

The meal tonight was vast quantities of salted meat originally preserved for the long journey, hardtack, and clean water. This potentially boring meal was bolstered by the addition of various exquisite foods looted and scavenged from the now ruined shops and restaurants, as well as the estates of the nobility. To further add to the meal, crates filled with weak ale were brought ashore along with the support staff. Of course, troopers had acquired their own bottles and in some cases entire casks of alcohol of all sorts. Officers were to watch the men closely and make sure that they were not getting too drunk that they would not be able to fight effectively if need be the very next day. Those that did not join their men in festivities anyway,

Adrian was not one of those officers. He had set up his large officer's tent in the very center of the space allocated for his unit. They were camped out in a large, flat field in the heart of the city. It was probably a military parade field in times past, but now it was home to 5,000 tired and hungry men and women- all of whom were now celebrating their first of hopefully many victories.

He stood over the table he had set up in the center of his tent. Maps, charts, and tactical dispatches were strewn across its wooden surface. Totally alone with his thoughts, Adrian studied the maps of Lillandril, placing special focus on the land based entries in and out of the city.

"Here's the files you wanted, sir," he heard Mira say as she pushed open the flaps to his tent.

"Thank you," he said. "Place them here," he indicated to a spot mostly free of clutter.

Mira had shed her heavy coat and helmet, opting instead for the light, long-sleeved button up blouse issued to all female troopers. Her hair was set in a loose ponytail tied with string. Even though she had been covered in dust, dirt, and sweat, her hair still remained shiny and clean looking.

"I don't think I'll be needing you for the rest of the night. Feel free to head back to the festivities," he said.

Mira grinned and saluted. Her hazel eyes danced in the flame of his oil lantern. "Yes sir!"

Adrian watched her leave the tent and jog over to a group of men setting up a cask of wine. He grinned as she poured herself a large glass. The young trooper's spirited and energetic demeanor was a boon to the entire regiment. Her very presence could raise the morale of those around her, even in the middle of battle. He knew that it was the right choice making her his adjunct, even though some of the older and more experienced men protested that choice then and continue to.

Tomorrow, it was almost certain that the Altmer would mass for a counter attack. The tactical officers knew that the Dominion was not smart enough to adopt new tactics to fight the Rynn troopers that quickly. The elves would probably advance in neat lines of massed infantry with teams of archers moving amongst the infantry to support their advance. To counter this, 5,000 men would be fielded, comprised of elements from the 13th Assault, 75th "Black Reapers," 65th Infantry, 68th "Night Bringers," 89th Assault, 4th "Red Daemons" Assault, and the 53rd "Ghost Killers." The most accessible points into the city were through a series of outlying farms, several of which had been identified as suitable points to dig in and make a defense.

The 88th would not be participating in the battle tomorrow. Brutal, grinding combat out in the open was unsuitable for their purpose. The enlisted men could rest and relax, while Adrian would probably spend all day in officer's meetings. If he could, he would send out the letter he had written when he had a moment a few hours earlier. It was a relatively short letter addressed to his parents, the first one in well over three months.

Adrian felt the scrap of paper in his jacket pocket. He hoped his parents still read his letters. He hoped they still thought of him as their son through it all.

 _City of Solitude_

 _Province of Skyrim_

 _10:00 AM_

 _Several weeks later_

It did not take long for the report of the devastating Altmer defeat at Trovver's Stead to reach the people of Skyrim. Many Nords relished this tale and would sit in taverns across the land, retelling the story of how thousands of elves fell to the so-called "Commonwealth." A nation many had barely heard of prior to the dramatic invasion of Summerset.

Tales were told in every city and town of their powerful army, armed with weapons unlike anything Tamriel has ever seen. Bizarre spears that shot out invisible projectiles that could blow an elf's head clean off. Terrifying machine-weapons that spat out bright patches of light and roared powerfully, leaving only shattered bodies in their wake. The metal machines that shook the earth below them as they fired and could remove entire portions of the land they targeted.

Vincenzo Arnaldus, the living legend known as the Dragonborn, heard these stories, and he could not believe his son was marching alongside these warriors.

He woke later than he usually did and found that the bed was empty. Vin sluggishly rolled over and put his feet onto the cold stone floor. He hoped that there was a fire already set in the kitchen and in the hearth downstairs.

The Dragonborn was in his late 50s now and could feel it as he walked down the stairs. His hair was beginning to turn grey and his beard was flecked with wisps of grey that matched the color of his eyes. Signs of aging around his eyes were becoming more prominent each and every day. Vin considered himself "retired" from the days of adventure he had, where he came into this land and was drawn up into all its dilemmas and stories. After the defeat of the dragons and of the vile Alduin, Vin could have returned home to Cyrodiil.

But, he had fallen in love with the land and its people.

And he had found love with one.

Lydia stood over the piping hot pot set over the fire, stirring the soup she wanted to have for lunch herself since Jordis was out on a search for some medicinal herbs not found in Solitude. She was in her mid 50s now, but still as beautiful as the day Vin first laid eyes on her. Well, he thought so anyway. She was losing self-confidence lately. Because of this, Vin still reminded her every day that she was the most beautiful woman in Tamriel and that he loved her very much. She could not dispute the latter statement at all.

Her ebony hair had lost some of its luster and strands of silver began to shine prominently. But her emerald green eyes had not lost any of their sheen over the years. Much like Vin, wrinkles began to mar her face. Not due to stress or unhappiness, but simple flaws of the human body.

They had been married for almost 30 years now. But for the most part, they still acted like a newlywed couple. Many in Solitude, especially married couples around their age, wondered how they could maintain that youthful spark of love and affection that was somewhat lost with most.

"I couldn't tell you," Vin said when asked about this once. "We just work."

Vin entered the warm kitchen and wrapped his arms around Lydia's waist.

She smiled. "Good morning, dear," she said to him.

He kissed her on the cheek. "Someone's up early."

"I had to start getting this soup ready. It takes a very specific amount of time to warm up. Otherwise, it won't taste just right."

He let go of her. "I'll have to take your word for it then. I just eat the food."

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation.

Vin walked over to his door and opened it. A young man in light furs greeted him.

"Mail for you, sir," the courier said. He handed Vin a simple envelope with his and Lydia's names written on it in a familiar handwriting. A red ink stamp in the upper right corner said "AUTHORIZED DISPATCH- APPROVED BY RYNN COMMONWEALTH MINISTRY OF COMMUNICATION."

Vin could not believe his eyes. It must have been a letter from Adrian.

He thanked the courier with a Septim and hurriedly ran into the kitchen.

"We have a letter!" he said to Lydia excitedly.

She gave him a wry smile. "Why are you so excited? It's probably another letter from some scholar asking to write your biography."

He shook his head. "No… it's from Adrian."

She froze. "Really?" she asked, in disbelief.

He nodded and tore open the glue seal. Once the letter was out, he began to read it aloud.

 _"Dear Ma and Dad,_

 _I'm very sorry I haven't mailed you in such a long time. I had a lot to prepare for._

 _I'm sure you've heard that the Commonwealth made landfall in Summerset, right? I'm there right now as I write this. It's stressful- all these men and women look up to me and expect me to make the right choice. But I think I've been doing good so far. We're making good progress. I would tell you more, but I can't in case this letter gets lost._

 _I miss home very much. Not a day goes by where I don't think about it. And I miss you two, and Jordis, and everyone else at home. I hope everything is well there. I will try to come back if I get leave. Whenever that may be._

 _The one thing I'm happy about is that I've killed plenty of elves. Me and my troopers have killed many. But not enough. I don't think there will ever be enough. It feels good. It feels good to finally strike back against the elves and get back at them for what they've done to mankind, to the Empire, to everyone in Skyrim. And to get back at them for what they did to her._

 _I'm doing this for her- not for me. I won't be at peace until we defeat them all and take their wretched civilization away. Victory will come to us- I assure you._

 _I love you all,_

 _Adrian_

Vin sighed as he folded up the letter.

"I still can't believe the damn Commonwealth went through with it."

Lydia nodded. "At least we know he's okay," she said softly.

Vin rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. "For now. The Commonwealth really doesn't know what they are in for. The Dominion can field a massive army and have some of the most powerful mages in Tamriel. And those in the Commonwealth don't even allow magic! What are they going to do? Use those… fire spears to beat one of the most powerful empires the world has ever seen?"

"You've heard the stories. Over 13,000 Altmer killed while the Commonwealth lost under 2,000? Makes me think they have a chance," Lydia said, trying to cheer him up.

"Those are stories, Lydia. We weren't there. That could have been propaganda for all we know," he said.

"Even if it is and the Commonwealth is running right now, I think our boy will survive. He has your spirit. He will make it home no matter what. Just like you," she said.

Vin could not disagree with that. But, he was wrong too. He was not there for the Battle of Trovver's Stead. He did not see the devastation that day.

If only he knew those stories were true.


	4. Chapter 4: The Field of Battle

_Present Day_

 _Trovver's Stead_

 _12 P.M._

"And what is this place again?" asked Commander Dalton Land of the 13th Assault.

His second-in-command, Major Karl Dupul, looked through his binoculars for a third time and scanned the once verdant field, focusing on the tall, round mounds of dirt on the side of the field, where thousands of Commonwealth troopers were setting up defenses. Reciprocators were being set up in foxholes while hundreds of troopers piled more dirt onto the mounds and moved sections of wooden fence in front of where the firing lines would be.

The spot was chosen as tacticians saw it as the most defendable spot in the farmland as well as a spot where the Dominion army would have to cross through. Knowing the Dominion's tactics, the tactical officers recommended digging in as best as they could and ensuring that the troopers were prepared for a prolonged static defense. The general today was Josef Andro, a frail looking man in his late 40s who made his name in campaigns against raiders on the Commonwealth's northwestern border. The brutal fighting in the foothills of the Mirrored Peaks had claimed many lives- but much more would have been lost had it not been for the judicious leadership of Andro. But he had never fought elves and it would be very different than hunting disorganized bandit clans in the mountains.

"This is Trovver's Stead. Was one of the largest farms in Lillandril. But, it had fallen on hard times as you can see," he said as he motioned at the dead and rotting plants under the feet of their horses.

"The flat land and existing structures, such as the large mounds of dirt along the road, made it the perfect place to make our defense," Dupul said.

Land nodded. "I won't argue with that, major."

The day was hot and the sun beat down on his neck. He was sweltering under his heavy coat, which was dyed dark like the coats his troopers wore. Land was sure they would not be faring any better than he was- even worse more likely.

He urged his horse forward and rode to the front of his assembled forces, over 1,000 in total. Each man and woman stopped what they were doing and gave him their full attention.

"Today will be the first major test of our mettle, soldiers," he began. "The Dominion is sending a massive army to dislodge us from this hard-won position. But are we going to let them do that?" he asked. It was a rhetorical question, but all his troopers knew what to say.

"No, sir!" they all said in near unison.

He smiled. "Now today is going to be a very hot day. I want everyone to drink plenty of water and keep their canteens topped up. We'll try to rotate squads out of the firing line every half hour; but I won't admonish any man who needs a break from the fighting. Passing out due to dehydration is just as dangerous as getting an arrow or sword through the heart. And either way, you'll be out of the fight and won't be able to support your fellow soldiers."

The warriors assembled before him rocked on their feet and seemed eager to fight despite the oppressive heat. Land nodded proudly at his troopers.

"Let's send these pointy eared bastards home in caskets, eh?"

His soldiers whooped and cheered, waving rifles and blades in the air. Land began to ride back to the rear when scouts rode up to him.

20 minutes later, the Dominion army was upon them. Tens of thousands strong, the ranks of golden armored elves stood in neat, precise rows and columns. The blazing afternoon sun reflected off their dull colored armor.

The Rynn troopers fell into prone positions all across their fortifications. Mortar teams, delayed during the ride out of Lillandrill by damaged roads, arrived as the elves did and wasted no time setting up their weapons.

The elves locked eyes with the stalwart Rynn troopers. Neither side moved a muscle for a long time. Then, in the very rear of the elven lines, great horns began to sound. They were war horns, blown to direct troop movements on the battlefield and to unnerve enemy forces. The booming tone reverberated across the flat land and the scathing tone reached all the way to the rear of the Commonwealth's forces.

In their foxholes and on their firing lines, the entrenched defenders nervously exchanged glances and began to murmur amongst themselves. The officers took it upon themselves to make sure the troops remained disciplined- some shouted them down harshly, while others joked or reassured their troopers.

Land rode up and down his lines, rallying the troops. "I've heard that song before. I think it's an elven funerary march!"

His troops laughed and hollered. Land smiled to himself.

Even in the most brutal battles, Land had a knack for keeping morale. Today would be no different.

As the horns died down, two blocks of infantry advanced out from the main force. Both blocks were twelve by twelve, marching straight towards the Commonwealth guns without hesitation. Overconfident? Stupid? Maybe both.

The troopers on the firing lines leaned into their guns and sighted up their targets. At the 13th Assault's lines, Land rode up and down, calling "hold your fire until I order!" The other officers were doing the same.

One block of infantry came within 70 meters of the Commonwealth's lines, right in front of the 13th Assault.

That was when Land gave the order to open fire.

Thousands of guns opened fire on the advancing infantry. A good portion of the shots went wide, due to the shooters miscalculating the elevation difference. But, more than enough bullets tore through the elven ranks for a devastating effect.

The front rows of each block essentially disintegrated. The dead and wounded fell in heaps as their comrades sidestepped around them. But yet, the elves surged forward, although each warrior was immensely disheartened by the death of their fellow Altmer.

The Rynn troopers reloaded in a few seconds. Another order to fire was given and with it, several dozen more elves fell dead or in agony.

Two volleys was all it took. The remaining elves, which numbered less than a hundred, broke their ranks and ran. But the trooper gave them no reprieve. Two more brutal volleys ensured that the remaining elves, their backs to the shooters, were down for the count.

* * *

General Ulari angrily pushed his spyglass close.

"Damn them all. Are they soldiers or children?" he growled as he watched the ranks of warriors collapse in front of the Rynn troopers.

His aides did not answer. They were in awe of the weapons being wielded by the human infantry. The reports were true- strange spears that spat fire and lead. Invisible projectiles were cutting down the Dominion's finest soldiers with ease.

When no one answered him, Ulari gathered his aides and told them to order a full advance by all active regiments. More than a few looked concerned with this order.

"With all due respect my lord, do you think that is the most judicious move right now?" one of them asked meekly. Ulari glared at him.

"Lord Carene has entrusted me with defeating this little incursion. He would not give a fool the task of defending the entire Dominion from the invaders. Do not question my decisions."

He turned to the rest of his aides. "Go. Give the order to advance."

They rode out to deliver the order to the rest of the army.

* * *

Back on the Rynn lines, the troopers remained still as the gunsmoke and dust cleared. Hundreds of dead and dying elves lay before them. Not a scratch on any trooper.

Land had returned to the rear and surveyed the remaining elements of the elven army. The horns blew a tremendously high note as he did so and it seemed that a tidal wave of dull gold shifted forward towards their lines.

The elven warriors picked up speed and were soon trotting across the fields of dead crops. The Rynn troopers steeled themselves against the onrush, the incessant pounding of the enemy's boots against the hard packed earth reverberating in their ears.

Land entrusted that his officers had enough discretion to decide when to fire. One miscue could mean the complete collapse of Land's entire regiment.

In the rear of the Rynn lines, mortar teams dropped their fin stabilized metal bombs down the smoothbore tubes of their weapons. With a short, sharp thump, the projectile shot out of the mortar and arched over the trooper's positions. The first shell slammed about 5 meters in front of an elven battalion. The warriors screamed and many stopped short as the explosion kicked up brown dirt and sand. A few stumbled and fell onto their backs.

The next few shells collided with the front rows of several elven battalions, disintegrating several warriors while shrapnel tore mortal wounds into dozens more. But they continued their advance, although more than a few warriors felt fear overcome them.

Half of a battalion was wiped out in the blink of an eye when a pair of shells simultaneously impacted in the very center and right flank. The elves began to waver, but their commander raised his sword high and rallied them. The elves broke into a sprint, with several more battalions following their lead.

Mixed in with their melee armed brethren, teams of swift elven archers, numbering anywhere between twenty to sixty in a group, ran forward, low to the ground, in an attempt to find a position to fire upon the Commonwealth troopers.

The first wave of elven infantry, numbering over 3,000 with archer and mage support, threw themselves at the Rynn at full sprint. At about 42 meters away, the Rynn opened fire in one massed, almost in unison, volley.

Hundreds of elves fell dead, but hundreds more ran forward to take their place. There was another volley. This one was less effective, but still killed or maimed a good number of warriors.

The battalion at the very front had a mage attached to them. She spread out her arms and created a large shield dome of blue, pulsing energy that covered most of her unit. And it worked- the next volley killed no one who was within the shield. Those units with mages followed suit.

Those without were cut down by the subsequent volleys.

At 19 meters, the elves had their numbers severely reduced, but still had enough warriors and swords for a charge. The surviving archers began to post up and rained masses of arrows down on the defenders. At the 75th Infantry's position, dozens were killed by the golden elven arrows that seemed to ceaselessly rain from the sky.

The archers began to advance, firing at any exposed head or limb they could see. They were doing well, until a Reciprocator opened up on them.

Elven archers wore little armor and so, the Reciprocator was able to cut through their bodies like a knife through hot butter. In under 30 seconds, all that remained of the archers were broken bodies and a few shattered bows.

Now, the elven attack began to falter as the Reciprocators found their targets in their effective range. With the rifles and Reciprocators firing in gruesome unison, hundreds were cut down in seconds. But yet, they advanced. Maybe it was their pride.

But their pride did not protect them from the bullets that killed over 2,300 in the opening minutes.

A few battalions made it to the Rynn lines. They leaped up the earthen mounds, swords aloft. It just so happened that these were the battalions who put up shields to protect their warriors.

The elven unit that first had that idea collided with the 4th Assault, who were mostly not ready for a melee fight. The elves' blades were the first to draw blood against the Rynn in that battle, but their attack did not last long.

The mage who originally put up her shield was literally cut in half by a Reciprocator as she attempted to launch a gout of flame into the foxhole the gun crew was protected by. The gunners then managed to turn their gun to the elves coming over into the 4th's position.

Initially, the elven warriors met some success as they charged into the 4th. Swords plunged into the necks and chests of the 4th. Many fell as their comrades backed away, drawing their combat knives or trying to fix bayonets. A few did not fall back initially, deciding to turn their rifles over and swing them at the attacking elves like clubs.

After five minutes, the 4th surged back, bayoneted rifles held aloft or outward. They speared many of the surviving elves and some managed to get off shots that sometimes came dangerously close to hitting their allies in the chaos.

The elves who remained faltered in their attack and ran over the top where they were cut down by rifle and Reciprocator before they could join the tattered remains of the retreating first wave.

When the dust settled, 245 Rynn were dead with 76 wounded. At their feet, laying in the hot field, and stuck to the end of their bayonets were 2,789 dead elves. Any wounded elf within range was promptly put out of their misery.

At the firing lines, the troopers all took a few moments to catch their breath, take a few sips from their canteens, and move wounded comrades to the medical tents.

Land rode up to his troops, who promptly gave him their full attention.

"Now I'm sorry I wasn't there to be on the front with you all. But that was a damn good show!"

The assembled troopers murmured in agreement. They had not borne the brunt of the attack and had taken light casualties.

"Now, I want squads to switch out. We can almost predict that those bastards will hit us with more bodies soon enough."

Land began to ride to the rear, but decided against it. He stopped a trooper moving to the rear.

"Trooper Falk!" he said to the man. Land had memorized every trooper's name by now.

The young soldier stopped and saluted, almost dropping his rifle in the process.

"Yes, sir!"

"I'll need to borrow your rifle and cartridges, son."

The trooper looked confused. "Sir?"

"You heard me. That's an order."

Falk handed off his rifle and cartridge pouch to Land.

The officer smirked. "Thank you. Now, bring my horse back to the rear when you head back," Land ordered as he dismounted and handed the reins to Falk.

The trooper saluted enthusiastically. "Sir!"

Turning, Land headed to the firing lines, where fresh troopers were digging in. Some looked at him oddly as he propped his rifle into the dirt. He looked at the soldiers giving him odd looks.

"What's wrong, troopers? I'm where I belong," he said with a smile.

But now was not the time for joking. A few thousands more warriors were advancing on the Rynn lines. This time, the armored warriors formed a gigantic tidal wave of gold that made the first wave look tiny in comparison.

"That's a lot of elves," one officer near Land said.

"There's gonna be a lot of bodies, soon," Land shouted in reply.

The mortars opened fire again. But elven mages put the proper defences before the shells could do any real damage. The mortar teams ceased fire after a few volleys to conserve ammunition.

In perfect unison, the elves trotted the last few hundred yards towards the Rynn. At less than 10 meters, the elves dropped their protective wards, causing the troopers to open fire at point blank range.

The opening volleys had less of an impact than they usually did due to the elves moving in fast and hard. Elven archers made it to their effective ranges and promptly began to rain arrows down on the troopers. Land himself buried his face into the hard packed earth to avoid being struck. Several of his men were not so lucky.

In moments, a large force of elves were upon the Rynn. They cut down several dozen who were in the very front of the firing lines, even as the troopers opened fire at ranges as little as 5 to 3 meters away.

Warriors leapt over the Rynn dead and wounded, as the remaining troopers squeezed off their last volleys and fixed bayonets. The 89th and 68th were hit hardest, losing vast amounts of men to the barrage of arrows. Most of the survivors could not put up a good melee defense as the elves came pouring over their lines. The reserve troops, many of whom were taking their breaks in the rear, came running forward, some wearing only their undershirts and pants. A savage melee confrontation ensued, with the bloody combat grinding to a stalemate for the duration of the attack.

Back at the 13th's lines, the arrow bombardment ended and not a moment later, elves were beginning to pour over their lines. Some troopers were struck before they could even get up from the prone position they had adopted to defend themselves.

Land himself got up into a crouch and shouldered his borrowed rifle. He blew the head off an elf charging him and then speared one coming up his left side. Tossing the corpse off the end of his bayonet, Land saved a trooper's life by clubbing down the elven warrior standing over the downed man. He then drove his bayonet into the base of the elf's neck.

A moment later, Land barely dodged a battleaxe set to decapitate him. Two of his troopers ran up and impaled the axe wielding elf on their bayonets. Land delivered a coup de grâce to the elf by plunging his bayonet into an eye socket. The elf screamed and cursed him, even as he died.

He pushed a round into his rifle, feeling that he may need it at one point. He then waved the rifle over his head.

"Let's go! Plug that gap!" he shouted. Some troops ran to answer his call, with more running forward from the reserve lines. The rest were attempting to form some semblance of a firing line.

"To Oblivion with organization! Draw your blades and kill them!" Land shouted.

Land slung his rifle onto his back and reached into the leather holster he had on the back of his right hip. He withdrew his Garrison and Sons Model 4/206 revolver. The heavy, .44 Caliber single action revolver used to be gold standard within the officer's circle. High quality iron and steel construction coupled with high stopping power made it a favorite. It had fallen out of favor for the semiautomatics and double action revolvers in recent years, but Land still loved his.

He pulled the hammer back as he drew his sword. A pair of elves advanced on him, their armor shining in the sun's rays.

Land shouted and rushed at them, managing to blow off part of an elf's face with his revolver. The elf's partner looked at him in distress for a split second, just in time for Land to drive his sword between his ribs. Well, that was the intent anyway

Land's blade punctured only partway into the elf's armor and became stuck. The warrior punched Land in the face and withdrew the blade stuck in his armor. Land was on his back, his sword was out of reach and his rifle was still on his back. The elf drew a dagger and tried to plunge it into his chest. Catching the elf's wrist, Land was able to prevent the blade from slicing into his chest.

They were locked in a struggle for a few moments, until Land was able to free his left hand and pressed his revolver against his attacker's breastplate. With one pull of the trigger, blood spewed up from the exit wound in his back. Land rolled the corpse over and stood up.

His troopers were gaining the upper hand now. Reserve forces had now joined the fray and were laying into the elves with everything they had. A small group of troopers surrounded him.

"Are you alright, sir?" one of them asked him.

Land dusted off his coat. "Never better! Now, let's drive these bastards back!"

The might of the 13th collided with the remains of the elven attack. Any resistance that remained faltered quickly.

But then, the elves were suddenly bolstered by the arrival of the rest of the elven army, which had advanced in the chaos of the elven assault. Driving back the first wave of foes, the Rynn stood at the top of their fortifications and opened fire into the mass of infantry advancing on them.

They fell one after the other, but the remaining warriors scrambled up towards the Rynn.

Land was proud of his troopers. They kept up their fire without hesitation even as the enemy warriors were almost on top of them, all while arrows continued to zip over their heads. It was very lucky that Rynn bullets could pass through elven armor without much difficulty.

Standing at the head of his men, Land opened fire with his revolver into the golden tide, killing many and saving the lives of several troopers. His sword also reached out to stab or slash anything that got too close.

This went on for several minutes. The elves could not breach the Rynn positioned due to the unending wall of fire they were laying on.

At one point, Land broke open the top of his revolver, the automatic extractor sending empty and still smoking cartridges up into the air. He reached into a pouch and found that he had just one speedloader left.

Land looked around and saw that some troopers were digging into their ammo pouches and had to rummage longer and longer to find a bullet.

"Ammo check!" he shouted. The officers around him all repeated the order. Each troopers who heard the order took a moment to check how many bullets were left in their inventory.

They replied and it did not sound good.

"Three rounds, sir!"

"Five!"

"Aye sir, two left!"

"One round left sir- nevermind!"

Land grabbed a trooper near him by the shoulder.

"Trooper Kent- I need you to go back to the reserve and tell a quartermaster we need ammunition."

The trooper saluted and ran back, pushing through the troopers who were on the defense.

Some men were already fixing bayonets. The elves attempted a massed push but were stopped by a wall of gunfire followed by bayonets.

In the midst of the battle, trooper Kent found Land again.

"Sir, command is giving everyone the order to pull back right now,"

Land looked at the man with surprise. "What? We're doing just fine out here!"

"They want the elves to be drawn in and then get hit by the mortars once we're out of the way. We'll then follow that up with a mass volley with whatever ammo we have remaining," Kent replied.

Land smiled. "That's better."

He ran back, telling his officers to relay the order. Soon, radiographers and officers across the Rynn lines distributed the command and the army fell back as one. The elves took the bait.

The mortars fired without hesitation, even when troopers were still dangerously close to the kill zones.

"Hit the deck!" Land shouted as he heard the mortars shells whistled overhead.

He and many around him barely touched the ground as the shells blew apart the elves. Land could feel the shockwave radiate through his body and his ears rung. He peered up to see the elves who has advanced were now being vaporized by the dozen. Mangled elven steel mixed with body parts and unrecognizable pieces of the warriors rained down around him.

The bombardment ended a minute later. The troopers were up in a second and ran to their former positions. Land led his troopers up and over and each man shouldered their rifle.

Only a fraction of the elves survived the attack. Most were wounded or disoriented and could not put up a fight.

The remaining troopers formed a line and fired down on them. Most used up their remaining ammo, but it was enough. The survivors began to flee, but were shown no mercy.

* * *

"My lord, I implore you- recall our forces and retreat," an advisor said to General Ulari.

The general peered down his spyglass at his warriors falling to the Rynn. And to them turning and running for their lives.

"We cannot afford to continue this, general," another advisor said.

He put away his spyglass and stared at the scene for a long time.

"Sound the retreat. We'll fight another day."

Wordlessly, his advisors rode off to carry out the order.

Ulari sighed deeply. This was the first time he had to retreat from a battle. Thousands of his warriors were dead or dying. The progress of the Commonwealth had not been stopped. His lord would have his head for the embarrassment doled out today.

He spurred his horse and rode off to direct the retreat.

* * *

"They're running, sir!" a trooper announced

Land wiped dust and smoke out of his eyes and saw that the elven army was turning away.

He laughed. "We did it, soldiers! The bastards are going home!"

Across the Rynn lines, the surviving troopers cheered. Many pumped their weapons in the air. Some hugged. A few kissed.

"The day is won. The day is ours," Land said to himself.

Many Rynn troopers were dead. Many more wounded. He himself had been battered thoroughly, but was still on his feet.

The time to count the wounded and dead would come. But for now, it was time to relish in the victory.

* * *

"I surrender! _I surrender_!"

The wounded elf waved his arms at Land and his bodyguards. His plea for mercy was cut short by a blade to the throat.

The Rynn were now picking over the battlefield, finding bodies of their comrades and retrieving their wounded. Any surviving elf was shown no mercy. The Altmer would do the same if they were the victors.

It was estimated that around 13,000 elves had lost their lives. The Rynn lost around 2,000. 2,000 good men and women who died for the Commonwealth. They would be shipped back to Rynn in pine boxes and would be undoubtedly be hailed as the greatest of heroes.

Land and his men approached a pair of dead elves near where one of the firing lines had been. One of the corpses stirred. The group stopped. Land drew his revolver.

"There's someone under there, sir," one of the troopers said.

"Yeah…" he muttered.

Land kicked the corpse over and revealed a bloody, beaten, but alive, trooper.

He wore a crimson jacket, which was now dark red in places with blood. His mask and helmet were both missing.

Land smiled. "Hello trooper. The battle is won."

The man had two arrows sticking out of his chest- but they were caught by the mail woven into his coat. Even so, he definitely had a broken rib or two.

"What unit are you from, son?"

"Red Daemons, sir."

Land grabbed the arm of a medic walking past. "We need a stretcher for this man here," he ordered.

"I'm Commander Dalton Land of the 13th Assault. What's your name?" Land asked the trooper.

"Trooper Frederick Crane. I'm from Darinwick," he said, referring to a large town near the Commonwealth's northern border.

"Why are you telling me that, soldier?"

"Because if I die, you'll know where to send my body, sir."

Land grasped the man's hand. "You're not dying today, trooper Crane."

The medics arrived and lifted the man into a stretcher and hauled him away. Land watched him disappear into a medical tent.

In front of him, a field of broken armor glimmered in the sun. Mangled corpses of once proud elven warriors began to fester in the unrelenting sun. Mortar shells had scarred the land and craters pockmarked the already cracked earth.

Land took a deep breath. He smelt the death, the stench of rot beginning to fill the air. He could feel the sharp smell of gunpowder in his nostrils, along with something burning.

It smelt like victory.


	5. Chapter 5: Homefront and Northward

_Dracka_

 _7:00 PM_

Bertrand Ackers dropped a 2-dollar note into the hand of his cab driver. The man smiled, tipped his cap, and drove off.

Ackers turned on his heels and found himself in the light-drenched heart of downtown Dracka.

The area that would become downtown was the center of the city's smithing and forging in the old times- before the blast that changed the fate of Rynn and her people. In the years after the disaster, the first factories and foundries sprouted up from the ruins. The spirit of Dracka, the spirit of the Rynn, was not broken. It came back stronger than ever.

Now, the old factories were closed. Now, Downtown Dracka was the beating heart of the machine that was the Commonwealth.

Ackers walked down a wide sidewalk. Tall, brick and cement buildings surrounded him on both sides. A few steel and iron framed buildings were under construction and they already towered over the brick townhouses.

A large, cobblestone road made up the primary boulevard through downtown. The central section of the road was broken by a continuous island of electric streetlights and utility poles, where wires thick and thin spread out from. Wires to deliver electricity and telephone services spun off to the homes and businesses of downtown and for miles out of sight.

Nearest to the islands, electric street trolleys trudged up and down the streets, each one packed with visitors and residents. In the middle lane, motorcars rumbled along. There were taxis, police vehicles, private motors, public buses, and a myriad of other vehicles, many of which had only appeared in the last ten to twenty years. On the outermost lane, horses and carriages thundered down the path. The horse was still immensely popular in Rynn and the motors would not replace them any time soon, it seemed.

In the hazy sky, backlit by the lights of Downtown, airships lolled lazily over the city, their holds full of cargo or passengers. More than a few were undoubtedly military, the behemoth airships setting sail for Summerset with weapons of war waiting in cargo bays to be unleashed upon the enemy.

Ackers tipped his bowler hat at a police officer passing him and wondered what he should do tonight. It had to be something special- he and everyone else in the city was celebrating victory over the elves.

The air tonight was so patriotic; you could taste it. People were celebrating in every pub and restaurant in the city and songs of national pride were being pumped over the radio.

Ackers came to his favorite pub, the Rusty Hammer. Music could be heard from within and the door was wide opening, revealing a well-lit and joyous room with plenty of patrons enjoying the night.

Before he stepped in, he noticed a small knot of people in an ally way. They were mostly common folk, mainly men in sweat stained cotton shirts and canvas work pants. A few women sprinkled the crowd. They seemed to be the stay at home types, the ones who shopped and took care of the children. Ackers noted that many of those in the crowd were the men who worked in the machine factories, producing the weapons for the military and technological wonders employed in the Commonwealth's everyday life.

He noticed that they were standing around a man who stood on a wooden crate. He was wearing a long, dark coat with a wide brimmed hat. Around his neck was a silver pendant in the shape of a cog.

The man was speaking to the gathered. His interest piqued, Ackers joined the crowd, but stood at the fringe. He felt out of place, with his crisp and pleated slacks that were free of oil and grease stains. Not to mention the grey, ironed waistcoat with a gold pocket watch tucked into a pocket.

"Brothers and sisters, our brave soldiers have shown us the triumph of the Engineer's will in the field of battle," the man spoke.

"Many of us saw the victory of the holy technology over the corrupt magic of the elves," he continued. Many nodded in agreement.

"And my friends, I tell you this- the Engineer has given us the tools to bend the machine to our will. With our machines, with our sacred technology, we give the Engineer homage! He has ensured our army's victory over the filthy elves and their unclean magic. Should this be enough of a sign that our fair Commonwealth, under the steady guidance of the Engineer, shall triumph over the dark empire of the elves?"

The crowd muttered in agreement. Ackers found himself nodding in agreement as well.

He had heard of these people. The Mechanicists, they called themselves. Worshippers of a god, if you could call it that, known as the Engineer. They worshipped technology and machines. He always thought of them as something as a cult- but now, the street preacher was having sway over him.

"We have all known since the disaster that dogged our land and people for years, technology was our savior and it will continue to be as we fight against those who wish to truly destroy us," the preacher continued. "Let it be known that the Engineer has plotted a course for our nation, our people, and our world."

The assembled crowd cheered and clapped as the preacher stepped down from the crate.

"I must take my leave now. But feel free to ask me any questions you may have. And please, visit our chapel on 233/A Front Street. Ask for Emissary Voight," he said added.

Most of the crowd had not dissipated. Many stood around and talked to the Emissary. Ackers considered leaving and grabbing a drink at the pub… but something about the Mechanicists' fiery words made him want to learn a bit more.

Ackers decided to talk to him for just a little bit.

After an hour and half conversation, Ackers considered himself "converted."

 _Province of Skyrim_

 _10:00 AM_

Commander Caccio Aurrus, commander of the XV Imperial Auxilia, warmed his hands over the brazier where a glowing fire lapped inside of its metal cage. He and the 40 men under his command sat listless in the cold in what was probably the most boring post in Skyrim, a border crossing known as Reaver's Cross.

The closest settlement was the town of Falkreath and the entire area was inhospitable, even by Skyrim standards. Travelers rarely took this crossing- it was the terminus of one of the longest routes out of Cyrodiil, was up a rather steep hill, and was far away from any worthwhile destination. Arrus and his men got maybe two travelers. A week.

So it was very interesting when Arrus's lookouts reported a large convoy approaching the border from Cyrodiil. Men on horseback and on foot, it appeared. Along with a large amount of motorized machines hauling all sorts of equipment and supplies.

Only one nation could be mounting such an expedition. It was the Rynn Commonwealth.

They were the last people Arrus expected to see here today. What could the Rynn with their arcane technology want with the backwards and hostile province?

Arrus ordered the gates open, letting the machines of the convoy enter, along with the riders and men on foot. The border guards stood in a semi-circle around the Rynn, ogling the machines that belched out black smoke and steam.

Most appeared to be military men. They carried their spears that breathed metal and each man wore heavy wool coats with matching half-masks. In lieu of helmets, each man had a fur hat with flaps that covered the ears. Arrus wished he had one of those hats. Maybe one of them would want to trade for a spare Imperial sword?

His thoughts were broken by a man stepping out of the cabin of one of the motorized machines and into the fresh snow. Pulling his fur parka up, the man walked up to Arrus.

"Good morning, commander," he said with a slightly nasally tone. The man was substantially shorter than Arrus and his meek frame looked like he was about to disappear under his thick coat and fur hood. He had all the hallmarks of an academic, including glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose.

Arrus nodded at the wiry man. "And who are you?" he asked.

The man smiled. "Oh! Where are my manners? Doctor Arkan Anders, history department, University of Dracka," he said, offering Arrus his hand.

"What is your business here in Skyrim, doctor? You certainly have quite the force in tow," he said, motioning to the Rynn troopers and vehicles.

The troopers were milling around the checkpoint now; some were even striking up conversation with Arrus's men.

The doctor dug into his coat and withdrew a bundle of papers. Arrus noticed that the Imperial seal was visible upon one of them.

"We are here on a scientific and archeological expedition to excavate ancient Dwemer ruins. We are planning to have an exhibit on the Deep Elves at the university next month and some true to life artifacts would be very appreciated. Plus, I'd personally like something to show my Tamrielic History students," the doctor said with smile.

Arrus took the papers from his hands. They were indeed archeological permits, signed and sealed by the many department heads that inhabited the Ivory Tower in the Imperial City.

Arrus nodded slowly. "Seems to be in order, doctor," he said.

The doctor adjusted his glasses once more. "Excellent! Thank you for your time, commander."

Arrus stopped him for a second. "Are you sure you have enough protection, doctor? Skyrim is a dangerous place. And an operation like this is sure to attract attention."

"That's what I'm here for."

Another man stepped into Arrus's view. This man was a career officer- through and through. He was in his late 40s, with steely grey eyes and a hard, weathered complexion. He looked hulking in his leather and wool coat. He stood almost a head taller than Arrus.

"Major Jakob Keen," he introduced himself. "My men and I have been fighting in frigid conditions such as this for decades. The mountains are our home. Believe me, commander, we can handle what Skyrim plans to throw at us."

Arrus smiled at Keen. "If you insist, major."

As the Rynn turned to leave, Arrus caught the major's arm.

"I don't know if this is appropriate to say- but I appreciate what your countrymen are doing in Summerset. I lost my father in the Great War against the Dominion. All I can say is that I hope your comrades are making ground in the Isles."

Keen nodded. "Believe me, commander. We are."


	6. Chapter 6: How we got Here, Part I

_Summerset Isles_

 _8:00 PM_

The days after landfall began to meld together. One week, two weeks, three weeks. The Rynn pushed out of the city into the countryside, sweeping through the tiny villages and farms that dotted the Isles. Resistance dogged them at every turn, from the Dominion's main forces, to attacks by mage's guilds that were present in some towns. Sometimes, the poor Altmer villagers would attempt to defend their homes from the Rynn. Even Adrian could admire their tenacity.

But, for all their valor, their attempts were futile. The Commonwealth swept aside resistance with ease. They took what they wanted in the towns and put down anyone who protested.

They planned to reach Alinor in two months. At this rate, the Commonwealth would easily make it. Commonwealth high command could barely believe that the Altmer had not pulled together a true offensive as of yet. Everyone expected a better opponent out of the elves.

Elsewhere in Tamriel, the Commonwealth striked against the Dominion wherever they were. The Commonwealth's proximity to the Dominion held provinces of Valenwood and Elsweyr allowed for swift attacks on Dominion settlements.

Within days after the main attack on Lillandrill, Commonwealth troopers poured over the border with Valenwood, overwhelming the Altmer border troops. Most of the Dominion's forces in their mainland provinces had been recalled quickly to defend their homeland. The Altmer did not believe the Commonwealth would spread their resources so thin as to have a three front war.

But the skeleton crews left in Valenwood found themselves under attack by war machines that not even Adrian and his fellow officers, let alone the enlisted men in Summerset, had ever seen.

The defenders awoke to see a cadre of armored war machines, metal threads crushing the brush and small trees around the Altmer fortress and smashing through the wooden and stone defenses that the elves believed would be enough to stave off an attack.

The tank corps rolled inexorably forward, with ballista bolts, arrows, spells, and rune traps glancing off the steel hulls. Once they reached the sealed gates, the six pounder guns on the tank's turrets opened fire, smashing through the gates with ease.

Once they were through, pairs of twin linked Reciprocators cut down the Elven defenders, while the rest began to flee. Commonwealth Riflemen followed in behind, mopping up what little resistance remained. This was the scene across Valenwood, as Rynn tankers and infantry destroyed the Altmer where they stood. Within a week, the Commonwealth had made progress far into the interior of Valenwood.

In the waters and coastline around Valenwood, two fleets from the Commonwealth Navy sailed from the port of Vizara and made their way to the southern coast of Valenwood, where the Altmer ports were concentrated. Altmer port settlements were subject to constant bombardment until they were reduced to cinders, before seaborne troops supported by tanks rolled through the ruins and killed anything that still remained.

From their quaint, hidden villages and tree top kingdoms, the Bosmer watched. The Bosmer Rangers observed the battles from afar and told wonders of tech-sorcery and horrific weapons that decimated the Altmer. They watched the hated Altmer, their enslavers who kept them under the heel of their boot under the pretense of "defense" from the men, burn in their forts and strongholds. They watched as the Altmer were crushed under the threads of the Rynn war machines, the wonders of technology that swept aside the powerful Altmer without a second glance. The Bosmer watched as the Rynn systematically dismantled the Altmer across their home, accomplishing in a few weeks what the Bosmer had wished to do for years.

When the Commonwealth troops first drove and marched into the Bosmer villages, the inhabitants did not run or hide. They did not fight. Instead, they hailed the Rynn. Their liberators. The lords of steel and fire who had come to end the reign of the Altmer.

* * *

As the victories piled up in Valenwood and the Commonwealth began to establish positions across the province, the second part of the conflict on the mainland begun.

A fleet of airships, the pride of the Commonwealth Air Corps, departed from a landing field cleared on the southern coast, their holds swollen with troops and war machines in some cases while the rest had been modified for bombardment and fire support. They flew out of Valenwood and sailed through the clouds for two days before they soared over the mountains of Elsweyr and over the arid canyons and deserts.

Without wasting a day, the Rynn air fleet bombarded Altmer strongholds and landed diplomats in the Khajiit cities. The Cat Folk were divided by the arrival of the Commonwealth, some saw them as liberators who held the key to freeing them from fear of the Altmer moving into their land.

More than a few scoffed at the arrival of the Commonwealth and could only wonder what the implications of these men and their technology could be.

Men, elves. Did not matter. An oppressor was still an oppressor.

Time would tell where the Commonwealth and Khajiit would stand.

* * *

The 88th had set up camp for the night on the grounds of Altmer estate. It was the home of some important noble in the elven hierarchy. He and his valuables had presumably fled long before Commonwealth troopers kicked in the handsomely carved oak doors.

The grounds, which had once been beautiful vineyards and botanical gardens, were now covered with thousands of tents, lean-tos, and other temporary shelters inhabited by the enlisted men and women of the 88th along with three other regiments.

Adrian set up his sleeping accommodations in the second floor study. It gave a commanding view of the vineyards and gardens and Adrian felt it would have been absolutely beautiful to see the sun rise over the distant hills and lay sunlight on the estate's grounds. Adrian would have appreciated the view even more if the grounds were not covered with tents and shanties inhabited by hundreds and hundreds of tired, hungry, and dirty troopers.

He spent the night reviewing some tactical dispatches and maps, interspersed with poking at his meal of roast lamb and string beans. The noble's desk was fairly large, allowing him to be his usual disorganized self and scatter his documents all over the place. He had taken Dragonbane off his belt and leaned the venerable blade in its sheath against the desk.

To his left, a fire blazed in an ornate marble fireplace, throwing heat throughout the large study. On the opposite wall, he had set up his bed by throwing some blankets and quilts looted from the master bedroom onto a couch. General Zigus was sleeping in the luxurious bedroom tonight, so Adrian had to make do. The couch was nicer than most beds he had been sleeping in recently, though.

Adrian looked up from his studying and took a bite out of his lamb. Feeling thirsty, he started rummaging through the desk drawers to see if the Altmer noble stashed something to drink. His efforts were rewarded when he produced a bottle of vintage wine from a lower cabinet. He popped the cork and took a deep swig, letting the bitter liquid swirl over his tongue. Adrian gulped it down, savoring the aged taste. This was the good stuff, all right.

He wasted no time in taking another swig before leaning back in the oak wood chair, holding the bottle loosely by its neck. Adrian sighed and stared at the ceiling, which was composed with bronze colored ceiling tiles with images of flowers carved into them.

"How did I get here?" he said aloud.

Indeed. How did a half Imperial, half Nord from the northern realms of Skyrim end up with a pistol under his arm, a sword at his waist, and a few hundred men under his command?

 _You know why you're here_ , his inner voice told him.

 _The Altmer tore your family apart,_ it said.

 _Maybe you were destined to be here. Much like your father had a destiny._

 _He saved the world from the dragons. You're helping to save the world from the Altmer cancer._

 _This is what you were born to do._

 _4E 202_

 _City of Solitude_

 _Province of Skyrim_

"We have a son!" Lydia said, tears in her eyes.

She cradled the newborn baby boy against her breast, the infant wrapped in a clean blanket.

He had stopped wailing for now, and cooed against his mother's chest.

Vincenzo Arnaldus wiped away a tear. "He's beautiful," he said.

His wife looked exhausted. But she smiled and rocked him back and forth softly.

The midwife and her assistants smiled gently at the baby. "Congratulations, sir. Your son is perfectly healthy. Your wife will be fine too- everything went off without a hitch."

She smiled and patted Lydia's shoulder. "We'll leave you two alone with your child. We'll be outside if you need us."

With that, they left the new parents alone with their son.

"What are we going to name him?" Lydia asked.

He thought for a moment. "What do you like?" he asked her.

"I was thinking something traditional. Nordic. But I just can't think of anything I really like. Something powerful enough to describe our son."

She smiled at him. "After all- he has the blood of the Dragonborn. The mightiest warrior the world has seen. Oh, and I'm pretty good with a sword if need be," she said with a sly glance.

Vin laughed. "I believe that his mother is the ultimate warrior here."

After a moment, he spoke.

"How about… Adrian. That was my uncle's name. The one who took care of me in Cyrodiil."

"Adrian…" Lydia said, testing the strength of the name. Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at her husband.

"I like it. Adrian Arnaldus."

Vin stood over Lydia and his son. He grabbed his tiny hand. Adrian wrapped his fingers around the Vin's index finger.

"Hi, Adrian," he said with a smile. "I can feel it. You're going to do great things."

* * *

And so, Adrian Arnaldus grew up on the cobblestone streets of Solitude, in the shadow of snow capped mountains and towering manors. He was an inquisitive mind, much like his father. From the moment he could first read, he read every chance he got, and could look at maps and artworks of faraway lands for hours on end.

He learned writing, reading, mathematics, and history at school. At home, he learned the art of combat. Vincenzo and Lydia taught him how to swing a sword and hold a shield starting at the age of 9. Jordis would teach Adrian archery in an impromptu archery range set up in the manor's basement.

Adrian was a natural with bow and blade. Lydia and Vin were proud of his innate ability- after all, he was their son.

When Adrian was three years old- Naomi was born.

Naomi was a beautiful, intelligent, and caring girl. Everyone knew she would grow up to be the spitting image of Lydia. She even braided her dark hair the same way her mother did every morning.

While Adrian pursued the art of the sword and bow, Naomi was a more "traditional" artist. She wielded the paintbrush with the same finesse and precision Adrian demonstrated with his sword. When she was 8 years old, she painted a stunning watercolor portrait of Lydia from memory. The artists of Solitude called her a prodigy and each begged her parents to take her under their wing and hone her already strong skills.

The Arnaldus children grew up happy and comfortable, in a loving house with loving parents. When they were young, Vin would often enchant them with tales of his adventuring days, from slaying dragons to delving into dark dungeons. Lydia would also sing lullabies to the children, in her sweet and soft singing voice.

They both had bright futures ahead of them and long, happy lives.

* * *

One summer day, when Adrian was 16 and Naomi 13, Vin asked them to accompany him on a short hike through the mountain paths near Solitude. The trees and flowers were in bloom and it was unseasonably warm out, even for the summer.

Vin put on a light shirt and pants with a thin coat while Adrian wore a cotton tunic shirt with canvas pants. Naomi put on her red summer dress with gold trim and braided her hair in her traditional style. Adrian grabbed his bow and took a small stiletto knife. Naomi packed her bag of art supplies and teased her brother for taking most of his entire armory with him.

"What are you gonna do? Slay some dragons?" she said with a chuckle. Adrian glared at her.

"He may need to, Naomi. I'm too old for it!" Vin said as he adjusted his sheath that contained Dragonbane.

"Yeah, sis. You can paint a picture of the dragon while it tries to eat you. I'll try to keep you alive. Deal?"

It was Naomi's turn to glare.

Vin chuckled at their bickering and gently pushed them forward. "Let's go before the dragons actually do come back."

They passed Lydia, where she lounged on a sofa in their den, reading a newsprint.

"Are you sure you don't need me?" she asked, slightly concerned.

Vin shook his head. "We're good, dear. Don't move a muscle," he said, pointing at her for emphasis and with a faux commanding tone.

Lydia held up her hands. "As you wish, my thane."

He groaned at the honorific, which had long since become a joke between them.

"We'll be back in time for supper. Try not to work too hard," he said to her as they walked out.

"Why does ma call you that?" Naomi said in an inquisitive tone.

"It's a joke, sweetie," he said as they walked to the main gate. "You remember how me and your mother met, right?"

"Yeah," she said, skipping forward. "The king of Whiterun made you a prince. Or something."

Vin laughed. "Yes, something like that."

He looked at a flock of birds flying overhead as he and his children walked through the open main gate.

"Jarl Balgruuf, Divines rest his soul, introduced us after I slayed my first dragon. Something about her just drove me crazy. The rest is history, as they say."

Naomi smiled. "I love that story. It's so cute. I hope I meet an adventurer one day and live happily ever after!"

Adrian scoffed. "Aren't you a little young for thinking about that?" he asked her across his father.

Naomi scowled. "At least I think about marriage! You just want to swing swords all day."

"Hey," their father said to his arguing children. "Let's try not to fight today, okay?"

They mumbled, but complied.

A few minutes later, they came to a clifftop clearing that gave a commanding view of the surrounding region. Soon, the children busied themselves with their chosen activities. Naomi set up a little easel and began to paint the valley below. Adrian pegged a paper target on a large tree and began to fire his bow at it while Vin stood back and advised him as needed.

A short time later, the Dragonborn noticed a group of figures moving through the woods. Towards him and his children.

 _Probably just a group of hunters or travellers_ , he thought. Or hoped at least. He noticed two more groups emerging from the woods and coming up both sides of the road. He did not get a good look at who they were, until it was too late.

Elves. Thalmor. They were fully armed and armored. They looked ready for a fight.

 _No_ , he thought as his hand went to his blade. _They're out of Skyrim. This can't be_.

"Adrian, Naomi. We need to go. Now," he said, drawing his sword.

Adrian and Naomi looked at each other and began to follow their father, but an arrow shot out from the treeline and landed in front of their feet. Vin stopped and tightened his grip on Dragonbane.

"You two stay behind me and run the first chance you get," he said.

"Dad, let me help you fight," Adrian said, nocking an arrow back.

"No," Vin growled. "I'll handle these bastards. Take your sister and run home and don't stop for anything."

"We've found you!" The Thalmor leader shouted at the Dragonborn. "Finally- it is your time to pay, Imperial. Your crimes against the Dominion have gone unpunished for too long!" the Thalmor leader continued, pointing his axe at Vin.

"And you bought your _spawn_ ," the leader said with an evil smile.

Vin narrowed his eyes. "If any of you sons of whores touch a hair on my children's heads, I'll rip your heart out with my bare hands."

Adrian grabbed Naomi's hand. "We need to go, sis," he told her. She looked back at him with terrified eyes.

"Kill him!" the leader shouted. "And seize his children! I want them to watch him die!"

The Thalmor warriors surged forward on three sides, fourteen in total.

Vin stood in a battle stance and sliced down two warriors as they approached. A small group of warriors tried to surround the children, but Adrian drew his stiletto.

"Just try it!" Adrian shouted as he pointed his knife at the three Thalmor.

His resistance gave Vin enough time to rush over. With one swipe, he decapitated an elf and drove his blade through a gap underneath another's breastplate. The third elf tried to raise his sword to defend, but Vin lopped off his sword hand and drove his blade through his neck as he screamed in pain.

He pushed his children behind his back and turned to see five elves coming for him, blades raised high. He raised his sword, but decided this would not be the best choice, so he steadied himself and opened his mouth and shouted words that had not been said in years.

" _Yol Toor Shul_!" he shouted.

The Thu'um manifested as a gout of searing hot flame. The elves caught in its blast were stopped in their tracks by the flames. They screamed in pain and flailed around as their armor melted and fused with their skin. Their screaming and flailing faded as they fell down to the ground in blackened heaps.

He barely had time to get back into a fighting stance when another warrior came up on his right. Vin deflected his blow, but was slashed across the shoulder in the process, leaving him open for a precious second.

Adrian screamed and plunged his stiletto into the attacker's thigh. The elf was brought to his knees, where Vin plunged his blade into his throat, twisted, and withdrew the bloodstained blade.

Four elves remained. Two, including the leader, challenged Vin, while the other two prevented his children from escaping.

Vin faced the first challenger and quickly sidestepped a wide, overhead attack he made.

" _Fus_!" Vin shouted, staggering his foe just long enough to plunge his blade into his chest. The elf grunted in pain and swung his sword wildly, which the Dragonborn easily avoided. He came around his back and stabbed through the weaker rear of his armor and kicked him to the ground.

The Elven leader now equipped himself with a bow, which he rapidly drew back and fired at Vin, who barely dodged the projectile. He sprinted and bridged the gap between them with lightning speed and shoved his blade into his gut. The leader placed his hands over the rapidly expanding wound and looked the Dragonborn in the eyes.

"Damn… you…" he muttered as he collapsed.

Vin picked up the dropped bow and a handful of arrows. He nocked back an arrow and launched it at a warrior standing over his children. It impacted him in the lower part of his throat. He gurgled, looked down at the projectile lodged in his throat, and then fell onto his back.

He sent another arrow down the line. This one impacted the elf's shoulder joint. He looked at the arrow just in time for another one to pierce the side of his neck. The arrow nicked an artery and he fell to the ground in a shower of blood.

Breathing heavily, Vin dropped the bow and arrows and walked over to his children. Adrian still held up his knife, although he was shaking. Naomi looked like she was about to cry.

"Are you two okay?" he asked.

They both nodded.

"Dad… your shoulder," Naomi said quietly.

Vin looked at where she was pointing and saw a ragged tear that was steadily leaking blood.

"Oh. I'm okay, dear. Let me just…" he said, as he twisted his body and tried to move his arm.

An arrow flew past him as he did this.

The world seemed to slow for Vin. He felt himself staring at the arrow's flight path. But he did not feel in control of his motions.

The golden tipped arrow, manufactured several days earlier by a talented Altmer craftsman in Alinor, impacted with Naomi's body just below her heart. Her eyes went wide. She looked down and held out her hands in surprise. The wound had blossomed outward, staining her red dress a deep maroon.

"Uh…" she said. She sounded confused.

Adrian's stomach did flip flops. He was rooted to the spot, too shocked to react. Too shocked to think.

She looked up at her father, tears in her eyes. Her mouth was open like she was trying to say something. Then, she fell roughly onto her back. Like a puppet whose strings were abruptly cut.

A moment of silence passed.

Vin slowly turned around to find the Altmer leader sitting up, holding a freshly fired bow. A hand was around the mortal gut wound. He had tried to take the Dragonborn with him, it seemed.

His eyes went wide and met Vin's own.

The silence was broken as Vin screamed a furious, animalistic cry. A sound he had never made before. A sound of rage, pain, and sudden loss.

He sprinted at the elf while shouting at the top of his lungs. He had dropped his sword at some point and a wild punch connected with the wounded elf's cheek.

The elf was downed and Vin fell to his knees and repeatedly punched him in the face, all while screaming.

The screams gave way to angry sobs as the beating continued.

"You killed her! She's dead! You took her from me, you piece of filth!" he shouted.

He punched the elf until he felt that his own hand was broken.

The elf's face was an unrecognizable mass, grounded into the dirt. But he was not done. Vin stomped on the nearly dead elf's face until his skull caved in. Then, he fell into a sitting position. Tears flowed from his face as he breathed roughly.

Adrian was crying too. The tears just gushed down his cheeks and in the moment, he felt useless and impotent.

Vin sat for a long while. The he got up and wordlessly walked to Naomi's corpse. He fell to his knees for and stared at her. Her eyes gazed upwards and her mouth was partially agape. When it became clear she was not getting up again, Vin gently removed the arrow with shaking hands and scooped up her thin form.

Adrian stood by his father. They looked at each other, but could not say anything.

"Let's go home," Vin said simply and very quietly.

Adrian nodded and together, they walked back to Solitude in silence.

* * *

 _4E 221_

 _City of Solitude_

 _Province of Skyrim_

The pair of strange riders came into town at midday. They wore black wool coats that went all the way down to their shiny black boots along with peaked caps, the kind of which Adrian had never seen before. Thick wool scarves were drawn up to cover their mouths and noses, presumably from the biting cold and frost.

They were definitely outlanders. Their unique dress and mannerisms proved them as so. They rode out to the town square and dismounted their horses. Adrian, who had been in the market at the time, stopped what he was doing and looked at the strange men.

One of them stood up on a pedestal used by shopkeepers to hawk products while his partner began to post several flyers on surrounding noticeboards.

The man cleared his throat and pulled down his scarf. He was young- no older than 27. His skin was lightly tanned, almost like the olive skin of his father, but not quite as dark. He addressed the gathered crowd with quick eyes. A simple sword was at his hip, as was another sheath containing a weapon Adrian did not recognize. He could see it had a curved wooden grip and appeared to be attached to a larger assembly. Adrian assumed it was a dagger of some sort. A strange one at that.

"Good afternoon, people of Solitude," he spoke in a loud, confident voice.

"I am Major Alvin Folker, representing the land forces of the Rynn Commonwealth. We are a nation to the west of Cyrodiil and share a border with the province. You may have not heard much of us, and I will not fault you for that. But, our peoples share much in common."

He paused and saw that he held the crowd's attention.

"We have been wronged, no, brutalized by the High Elves."

Adrian perked up at the mention of High Elves. He flashbacked to the day Naomi's heart was pierced by an Elven arrow fired by an Altmer warrior. He remembered how the Dragonborn rarely spoke or ate for over two weeks and how his mother seemed to cry for three days straight. Adrian remembered how he would sit in their room and stare at her empty bed, at her dolls and her beautiful paintings.

He would look at the family portrait she had painted shortly before her death. One of a happy, smiling family. He would think about how that had all been wrenched away from him so suddenly, by a pathetic excuse for a warrior who belonged to a pathetic excuse for a civilization.

Adrian hated the Altmer- every single one of them. He hated how the Thalmor whipped their natural arrogance and superiority complex into a fervor as they spoke of how men were stupid and weak and how Mer deserved to rule Tamriel.

He hated those that allowed the Thalmor to stay in power as they murdered and stole and subjugated.

Adrian knew from the day Naomi was carried past the gates of Solitude, lifeless and unmoving, that he wanted nothing more than to destroy them. Not just destroy their wretched Dominion, but punish each and every Altmer for their crimes.

The Commonwealth major spoke of disaster, of a society ruined, a nation shattered. But he also spoke of progress, of a nation rising from the ashes to be stronger and better than before. And how they would get back at the Dominion very soon.

"Now, I come to you today to ask you for your help. The Commonwealth Army is looking for and accepting foreign recruits. You will have to report to one of our camps in the Commonwealth yourself, but you will be fed, housed, and given benefits courtesy of the Commonwealth Ministry of War."

"But most importantly- you will be trained to fight. Trained with the latest technology and tactics. And one day- we will bring the war to the elves. I promise you."

The crowd murmured in approval.

"I thank you all for your attention today. Please see our notices if you are interested," Major Folker finished. He nodded politely to the crowd and stepped down to applause, Adrian amongst them.

A good number of citizens examined the notices posted and took their own copies. Adrian took his own home.

Later that evening, as Adrian ate supper with his parents, he broke the news. "I want to join the Commonwealth."

Lydia and Vin looked at him with concern.

"That's so far away, Adrian," Lydia said quietly.

"It is," his father said. "What is there for you?"

Adrian licked his lips.

"They want to fight against the Dominion. And that is a fight I want to be a part of."

"Adrian, you don't know a thing about them or what they want," Lydia said.

"I don't want you to go away and disappear," she added.

"Ma- I need to do this. If they really are going to take the fight to the Dominion, then they'll need every man they can get. I'll be making a difference in the world."

He turned to his father. "Just like you did, dad."

Vin sighed. "You can make a difference, right here with us."

Adrian shook his head furiously. "No. I want to fight the Dominion. They have been allowed to exist and stifle Tamriel for far too long."

His parents were silent. They both did not want their only child to leave to an unknown nation for an unknown purpose. But he was very adamant about it.

"I want to fight. For her."

Lydia and Vin were both silent. They knew he would say that.

"We'll talk about it another time," Vin said and left it at that. For the time being.

* * *

Several weeks later, Adrian and several others from Solitude had pooled together enough money to construct a caravan heading for the Commonwealth. The journey would take almost a month at ideal conditions, but Adrian was more than excited for it nonetheless.

He stood in front of his parent's manor, saying his final goodbyes. Lydia gave him numerous, tight hugs as she tried to hold back tears. Vin was more relaxed about it, knowing that his boy could handle himself.

At last- the goodbyes were over. Adrian hefted his knapsack onto his back, which contained some provisions, clothes, toiletries, a few notebooks, two knives, and a hefty pouch of Septims.

"Wait," Vin said before Adrian could go. He went upstairs and retrieved Dragonbane from the rack in his bedroom. He carefully presented the mastercrafted blade in its polished dragon bone sheath to him.

Adrian looked at the gift and took it in both his hands, grinning. He held the blade in reverence and with care like he was cradling a newborn.

"Dad…" he said, almost at a loss for words.

"It's yours, Adrian. It has protected me many times on my adventures and it should do the same for you."

Vin clapped him on the shoulder. "Now get out there and make us proud, Adrian."

He pulled him into a quick hug. "And try to come back alive."

Lydia punched him in the shoulder for that one.

Adrian walked away, towards the caravan preparing to depart, waving back at his family as he did so.

He mounted up and the cart drove out of sight.

Vin hugged Lydia.

"He'll be alright out there, my love."

"He was born to do great things."


	7. Chapter 7: How we got Here, Part II

_Camp Victory_

 _State of Kellion_

 _Central Rynn Commonwealth_

 _One month later_

The journey had gone off without a hitch and the group made better time than they expected. They had travelled through Cyrodiil, through its lush forests and warm plains. They passed through the great Imperial City, which was even more splendid than Adrian could have ever imagined.

Adrian imagined the life his father must have had growing up in the city. Prosperous, educated, and with wonders from around the world to be found at every corner. Not having to take a sword every time you left the city walls for fear of a bandit attack.

Their time in Cyrodiil did not last, however. They made headway into the Commonwealth in record time.

One they passed over the great iron bridge between the two nations, it was like stepping into another world and another time.

The border post was composed of concrete and iron, not a raggedy wooden hut or redoubt. Commonwealth soldiers were dressed in long coats and steel helmets and carried neither swords or bows. In lieu of traditional weapons, each man hefted a long wooden spear. Or at least that is what Adrian deduced they were.

After making their way to the state of Kellion, the group was told to report to Camp Farley, which would be home to exclusively foreign-born recruits.

But, when they arrived there, Adrian was informed he needed to report to Camp Victory, slightly further south. It was the result of some administrative mistake or clerical oversight. But whatever the reason, Adrian would be separated from the people he had grown close to on the long trip and be sent to place where he did not know a soul and would certainly be the minority.

And so, here he was, standing in line in front of a tent where he had been told to go as a foreign recruit. He was one of the only people on line.

Adrian adjusted the straps of his pack and placed a hand on Dragonbane. He looked around at the concrete buildings and paved roads. He saw more soldiers, armed with the spears. Everything was just alien, but at the same time, felt comfortable. Better, almost.

He reached the front of the line and found himself in front of a Commonwealth officer obviously unhappy with being stuck on administrative duty. The man leaned back in his seat and looked up at Adrian.

"Name?" he asked simply.

"Adrian Arnaldus."

"Where are you from?"

"Skyrim. It's up-"

"Yeah kid, I know where Skyrim is. Can you read? Write?"

Adrian eyed the man like he was joking. The scowl he returned indicated this was not the case.

"Yes, I can read and write," he said.

The man wrote something down on the paper before him and muttered "well, that's a start."

He slid Adrian a paper. It was a browned piece of paper that was smooth and thin, not coarse like the parchment back home.

"Fill that out and give it back to me," the officer instructed.

Adrian did as he was told. The form asked for basic information and next-of-kin information.

"Good job," the officer said with a hint of sarcasm when the form was returned. "Now take this ticket over to the medical building," he said as he pointed to the concrete building to the left of the tent.

Adrian thanked the man and took his ticket before heading inside.

The medical building did not reek of blood and sweat like the healing temples back home. It smelled… clean. Sanitized. Adrian also noticed that neither torches or candles lit. Instead, the Rynn lit their interiors with electricity captured in round glass bulbs. Adrian had never seen anything like it.

He was swiftly pointed to an examine room, where he took a seat on a bed and looked around at the advanced looking medical instruments and devices. He did not see bottles of potions or spellbooks about healing. Instead, there were scalpels, syringes, tweezers, and cabinets full of unknown liquids contained in clear glass bottles.

A doctor appeared and shook his hand. He had him strip down to his underwear where he was given a full physical and then poked with all sorts of instruments. The doctor also quizzed him on his medical history and showed interest when Adrian stated he was from Skyrim. He asked him about the creatures known to transfer disease in the province and whether or not he had come into contact with them.

After several minutes, Adrian was given a clean bill of health. The doctor handed him more papers and told him to report to the quartermaster to receive some of his new equipment.

A short walk later, Adrian was in front of the quartermaster's tent.

He looked over Adrian's paperwork and retrieved a pair of high leather boots, a midnight blue field jacket, matching canvas trousers, underclothes, several pairs of socks, a blanket, and a pillow.

Having gone through everything needed, Adrian found himself inside of Barracks B, his new home.

He pushed open the door to find several more recruits there.

They were all more or less his age, the oldest man being 21. They looked up from what they were doing as he walked in. Immediately, Adrian felt singled out.

He pursed his lips and walked over to an empty cot, a simple iron framed affair with a plain white mattress atop it. There was a footlocker and small table with a drawer and electric lamp, but that was it.

Adrian set his bed and put his pillow in its place. Next, he put his clothes in the footlocker and dropped his pack under his bed. Finally, he unclipped Dragonbane from his hip and prepared to place it on top of his clothes.

"That's an interesting sword you got," a voice said behind him.

Adrian turned and saw a boy, no older than 17, shorter than him with long, curly brown hair.

Adrian nodded curtly. "Yeah… it is."

"Never seen anything like it. It that bone?" he asked, referring to the sheath and handguard.

Adrian nodded again. "Dragon's bones."

The boy's eyes widened. "Really? Wow! That's something else," he said with a smile.

His smiled faded slightly. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Adrian shook his head. "No, I'm not."

The boy nodded. "I figured as much. So, where do you call home?"

"Skyrim."

"Skyrim? Wow! I've always wanted to see it. So much history and culture," he said excitedly.

The boy held out his hand. "Kallum Andersson."

"Adrian Arnaldus," he said as they shook hands.

"Nice to meet you, Adrian," he said with a warm smile.

He scrunched his eyes in thought. "Hm. 'Arnaldus' is Cyrodilic, not Nordic."

Adrian laughed. "You caught me. My ma's a Nord. Dad's from Cyrodiil."

"What's this? We got a foreign-born?" another voice interrupted.

A boy more Adrian's age pushed past Kallum and looked at him with a smirk.

"Thought we were all Rynn here," he said.

Adrian frowned. "Looks like that isn't the case."

The boy laughed. "Allen Darryl," he introduced himself without offering his hand. Adrian could tell Darryl exuded confidence. Maybe arrogance.

"Nice sword," he said to Adrian. "I know you Nords are all about sword fighting and all that," he said with a smirk.

Adrian wanted to say something, but held his tongue. "Yeah, we're pretty good at it."

"Can I see it?" he asked Adrian, holding out his hand. Like he expected Adrian to hand it over.

Adrian shook his head. "No. This thing is special to me."

Darryl looked at him dumbly. "What's that supposed-"

The door to the barracks swung open and a Commonwealth officer stood at the threshold.

"Alright recruits, get your uniforms on and assemble out on the parade field in five minutes," he said.

Darryl sighed and gave Adrian one last look before walking off.

Adrian hurriedly slipped on his pants and pulled on his jacket.

He examined every inch of his clothes as he did so. The buttons were cut into perfect circles made out of brass. Not like the roughly cut fasteners found on most Skyrim clothing. His pants and jacket were neatly and uniformly stitched. Not something seen in Skyrim either. This was something that could have been accomplished only with a machine's precision.

Adrian followed his fellow recruits out of the barracks, taking care to avoid Darryl.

The recruits formed a loose semicircle around a Commonwealth officer, who waved them over. The man seemed to be in his mid to late 50s and towered over the recruits, seeming larger than life in his full regalia. His face was lined by scars and aging. A peaked cap topped his head of grey and black hair, thinned by his crew cut and by his advanced age.

He looked over the recruits, hands folded behind his back.

"Good evening, recruits," his voice boomed. "My name is Colonel Harper Maddox. I am the commanding officer of your 34th Battalion and will be overseeing your ten weeks of training. During this time, you will learn to handle our weapons, hand to hand combat, tactics, and teamwork."

He paused and looked at their reactions. They were all standing still, waiting for him to speak.

He nodded and continued. "I'm sure many of you are here for a single reason. To get back at the Dominion. For their crimes they committed against our people nearly a century ago. And for the crimes they continue to commit against the people of Tamriel. The elves murder with impunity and destroy without remorse. They will not stop until all of mankind is subjugated to their will. No one can or will stand up to them- except us."

Maddox spoke with fire in his eyes. The recruits did not move a muscle and waited for his next words with baited breath.

Maddox looked right at Adrian.

"You're not from around here, are you, recruit?" he asked.

Adrian shook his head quickly. "No, sir. I'm from Skyrim."

Maddox nodded. "Skyrim, eh? Well, you should know better than most what it means to be brutalized by the elven plague."

Adrian did not reply and Maddox continued. "Well, recruit, let me tell you some things about the Rynn Commonwealth."

"The Rynn Commonwealth stands alone against the Dominion. We are a nation that has chosen to look ahead while others remain trapped and stagnant in the past. We stand for science, not superstition. Technology, not regression. Progress, not fear."

Maddox seemed to finish his speech with that.

"Now, the first thing we will learn is how to salute," he said.

The recruits spent the next 45 minutes learning how to properly salute. It was burned in Adrian's mind forever. Feet at a 45 degree angle, thumbs along the seam of your trousers, snap right hand to your forehead, and hold the salute for one second in most cases.

Next, Maddox had the recruits form ranks four deep and taught them how to march in formation. Adrian got the hang of it after stepping on the shoes of the person in front of him about a dozen times.

With that, Maddox let the recruits break for dinner.

Adrian stood alone in the mess hall with a plate of chicken and rice in one hand and glass of water in one hand. He found a seat alone and began to dig into his meal.

"Hey. Northman."

Adrian looked up. A new face looked down at him. A boy about 18 years old with sharp, handsome features and short black hair. The boy regarded him with icy blue eyes.

"Can I sit here?" he asked, indicating a spot across from Adrian.

"Yeah, sure," he replied.

The boy smiled and slid into his seat. "My name's Oswald Fallon," he introduced himself.

"Adrian Arnaldus," he said.

"So Adrian, I heard you're from Skyrim. What's that like?" Oswald asked.

Adrian laughed. "Cold."

Oswald smiled. "Not sure what kind of answer I expected."

"So Adrian, what is a man from over a thousand miles away doing here in the army?"

"Same reason as you and your countrymen. I want to get back at the elves," he said.

"And what did they do to you?"

"For starters, they've held a presence in my land ever since the Great War. Only recently had they been kicked out. Most of them anyway. And you know the story- oppression, murder, religious persecution."

Adrian's expression darkened as he considered telling Oswald the one thing that truly motivated him.

"The Dominion also murdered my sister. While trying to kill my father, might I add."

Oswald shook his head in disgust. "Damn savages. I'm sorry to hear that, Adrian," he said. Oswald sounded genuine, at least.

Adrian played with his fork. "Thank you. I'll feel better when we take the fight to them."

* * *

"Gods _dammit_ , Arnaldus- you call that a hit?" Maddox shouted at Adrian.

It was week three of their training. The introductions and team building exercises were finally over. Now, it was time for the fighting. Adrian was good at that, at least.

They were each given one of the long spears and were instructed to attack a fellow soldier, who was clad in padded leather armor. He was confused though, as the spears they were given had no pointed tip. Probably for safety. Maddox had also referred to the weapons as "muskets." Adrian had never heard that term before.

Adrian was paired with Oswald and had been told to strike him in the chest with the back end of his musket. But he did not wish to hurt his friend and had only slightly batted him.

"Give him a real hit, soldier. The Altmer are not going to do down with one love tap," Maddox said.

"It's okay, Adrian. Hit me, I'll be fine," Oswald said, thumping his chest for emphasis.

Adrian grimaced. "Okay then."

He set his feet apart, in a stance his father had taught him for spear fighting. With a shout, he slammed the butt of his musket against Oswald's chest.

His friend cried out and fell onto his back. Adrian held his musket in one hand and helped Oswald up, grinning.

"Your turn," Oswald said, taking off his helmet.

* * *

After the close-quarters training, Adrian returned to the barracks to find Darryl holding Dragonbane. He had gone through his footlocker, obviously without his permission.

Darryl was looking over the sheath, squinting at the runes carved into it. He poked at the dragon teeth that composed the handguard.

Adrian strode over to him.

"Give that to me," he asked calmly.

Darryl laughed. "Calm down, halfling. I'm just looking."

Adrian flushed at the term used to describe him. "I didn't say you could. Now give it to me," he said more severely.

At this point, all eyes in the barracks were on them.

He laughed again. "One second, Arnaldus."

Darryl slid the blade part way out of its sheath. "Wow! That is nice."

Adrian grabbed his wrist tightly. "You've seen it. Now give it to me."

"Let go, Arnaldus. You'll get it back when I'm done."

Adrian narrowed his eyes at Darryl's arrogance. The sword was not his. And it was not just another blade.

Adrian grabbed the sheath and tried to wrench it from his grip.

"I said let go, Arnaldus!" Darryl said, voice raised.

Darryl batted at Adrian with the grip of the sword.

Adrian let go of Dragonbane and punched him in the stomach.

Darryl let go of his sword and doubled over. He cursed Adrian under his breath and then took a swing at him. With one hand holding his sword, Adrian elbowed him in the jaw and sent him sprawling to the ground.

"This is mine. It was a gift from my father, who I won't see for years, maybe. Don't touch it," he said to Darryl's groaning form.

Darryl did not speak to Adrian after that. And no one touched Dragonbane.

* * *

"Try to stab me," sergeant Emil Vidor said Adrian.

It was week five of training. Vidor was the close quarters combat expert, bought in to teach the recruits how to fight with knives. Adrian looked down at the combat knife in his hand. He had been volunteered out of the crowd and handed the knife.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Okay, let's spar then. First to draw blood wins."

Vidor stood in a basic ready stance. Did not seem ready for a fight.

Adrian lowered himself and held his knife out. He ran at Vidor, who batted away his knife arm at the last second.

Adrian recovered and swung the blade sideways, almost catching Vidor's chest.

He swung again, this time in the opposite direction. Vidor slashed forward, but Adrian blocked it with his own knife and deflecting it to the right.

Vidor slashed downward, but Adrian blocked and batted him in the face with his elbow. He then kicked him in the side of the knee, bringing Vidor down involuntarily onto one knee. He then delivered a swift kick to Vidor's wrist that held the knife.

Lydia's technique for disarming had almost worked, but Vidor held on. He launched up and plowed into Adrian's midsection, sending him to the ground.

Vidor held down Adrian and pressed the tip of his knife into his cheek. Adrian felt a tiny trickle of blood sputter out.

Vidor got off him and helped him up. "Good fight, trooper," he said before beginning to teach.

After the lesson, Vidor pulled Adrian to the side.

"Trooper, that was quite the techniques, or techniques rather."

Adrian nodded respectfully. "Thank you, sir."

"I detected some Nordic fighting style mixed in with the knife-fighting style of the Imperial Legion. You switched between the two several times. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"My ma and dad."

Vidor chuckled. "Huh. So the people of Skyrim are as hardcore as they say."

* * *

"Now, recruits, this is the day you have all been waiting for," Maddox said on the first day of week seven.

"Firearms training."

Adrian tried his best not to look confused. _What's a 'firearm?'_

Maddox retrieved a musket from a crate next to him.

"Type 4 Common Pattern Rifled Musket," he said, holding the weapon above his head.

Adrian always thought the muskets were very complex for spears. Now, it seemed that he was very wrong about them.

"Fires a .58 caliber ball. Enough to blow through a man's armor and bone with ease."

 _So they fire projectiles like bows?_

"This one has been loaded. Allow me to demonstrate," Maddox said as he pointed the musket towards a target set up several yards away. He put the weapon to his shoulder and wrapped a finger around the trigger, which did not do anything whenever Adrian pulled it in the past.

He fired.

The musket spat smoke and tongues of flame and was accompanied by an incredibly loud, almost deafening explosion.

Adrian jumped in surprise. He had never heard anything so loud in his whole life.

When the smoke cleared, Maddox took the weapon off his shoulder.

"We are the first people in all of known history to wield firearms. The world does not know this. Yet. When the day comes when we will fall upon the Dominion, we will show them the might of our guns and bombs against their swords and bows."

Adrian was a natural with the gun, after he got over jumping at its explosive noise and heavy blowback anyway. He could pick up any weapon and understand how to wield it proficiently, be it sword or bow or dagger. The firearm was no different. It was not that different from a bow anyway. Aim at where your target is going to be, not where he is. Steady yourself. Breathe out as you take the shot. Easy.

* * *

The ten weeks were up. Graduation came and went. Most had their parents or family present. Adrian had no one to hug him and tell him how proud they were of him. His letters took ages to get to Skyrim and any replies took an equal amount of time to get back.

But it was not time to dwell on thoughts of home.

It was time to be shipped out.

Adrian and his battalion's first assignment was guarding a road on the edge of the Mirrored Peaks in the Commonwealth's north. Bandit clans still held on tight to the mountains and routinely attacked travelers who strayed too far north.

The governor of the state of Secundus begged Dracka for troops. He got them in the form of fresh faced recruits. This would be a simple enough post, however. Enough to test the mettle of the recruits without sacrificing anything particularly important should they all fail.

Adrian warmed his hands near the roaring fire. He still felt a chill in his core, even through his wool coat and field jacket. The standard issue scarf and thin gloves did little to help him either.

He sat between Kallum and Oswald, who both looked equally miserable in the biting cold. But, Adrian had the blood of a Nord in him and lived his whole life in Skyrim, so he barely registered the cold after a while.

Kallum rubbed his hands together and breathed hot air into them.

"Damn, Adrian. I feel like I'm in Skyrim," he said to him.

Adrian laughed. "It's like this almost every day, sometimes worse."

"You Nords are insane," Oswald said through the scarf that was wrapped around most of his head.

"Hey, I'm only half Nordic. Which means I'm not about to go running through the mountains in my shorts."

The rest of the group around the fire laughed. Opposite of them, Darryl was telling an anecdote about a run-in he had with a lecherous girl shortly after graduation. He was still not talking to Adrian.

"And then she told me she wanted to bring a friend over. She came back a few minutes later with _three_ of her friends!" Darryl said, waving his arms as he spoke.

Kallum groaned audibly at the story's improbability. Oswald chuckled and said "were they all guys?"

The entire group, save for Darryl, laughed at that.

"Fine. You're all just jealous, I know."

He got up from his seat on a fallen log.

"I'm going to take a piss," he announced.

"Thanks Darryl, we needed to know that," Oswald said.

"Make sure you're quick. I heard frostbite is a real bitch," Kallum called after him.

Darryl was halfway to the treeline and turned around.

"Hey, why don't you-"

There was the sound of flesh being pierced.

Everyone went quiet.

Darryl had a javelin impaled on the left side of his body, near his armpit. It had flown past his ribcage and punctured both lungs. He placed one a shaking hand on the projectile, while his chest rapidly rose and fell. Blood leaked out of his mouth and he made a raspy, wet choking noise. He stuck out one hand before he fell facedown.

"Oh, shit…" was all Adrian could say.

Dozens of shapes shot up from their hiding places in the tall grass. They were clad in black furs, mixed with tough leather armor. Their faces were painted dark to conceal them in the night. They were all burly, muscle bound men, and they screamed in bloodlust.

The bandits they were supposed to be guarding against had gone on the offense.

The battalion's officers came running out of their tent and started shouting orders. Maddox ordered his troopers to form a firing line, sword held aloft and revolver in his off hand.

Adrian jumped up from his seat on the log. He grabbed his musket, which he had leaned right next to him, and ran to join his comrades.

The bandits were near now and Adrian could see their spears and crude swords held out, ready to run through the Commonwealth troopers.

Adrian got down into a crouching position next to Oswald and leaned his musket on a broken length of wooden fence, which lined the road. A bandit was running right for him. Adrian squinted down the sights at the man, whose long hair billowed behind him and his mouth open in a bloodthirsty roar.

"Fire!" Maddox shouted.

Adrian locked up his body. He let out the breath he did not realize he was holding.

 _Just like a bow._

 _Let the projectile fly._

He fired in unison with his allies.

His shot punched a fist sized hole through the bandit's sternum. Blood exploded out of his back and dripped down the leather of his armor. The man cried out and ran forward unsteadily, even with his heart torn by the musket ball. He slowed and fell down after several steps.

 _I just killed someone_ , Adrian thought.

 _Worry about that later. Reload._

He dug into his cartridge pouch to retrieve a paper-wrapped cartridge.

Adrian tore open the wrapper with his teeth, tasting the gunpowder.

 _Pour down the barrel. Make sure the bullet goes down with it._

 _Ramrod out._

 _Ram the bullet all the way down until you feel it can't move anymore_.

 _Make sure you take a gods damn ramrod out too._

 _Replace the ramrod in its proper position._

 _Put the primer on the pan._

 _Shoulder your weapon_.

"Fire!" Maddox ordered again.

Adrian fired again.

The flashes of gunpowder igniting lit up the night, temporarily revealing the screaming bandits and the bodies of their dead.

After the second volley took more down, they retreated as quickly as they came.

Hit and run.

Four Commonwealth troopers were dead. About thirty bandits had fallen.

Four were dead on their very first deployment.

Oswald clapped Adrian on the shoulder.

"Good job, brother. You okay?"

Adrian nodded and looked out at the broken bodies in the field.

"Yeah. Fine."

* * *

At some point, Adrian turned 20. His gift was the entire battalion being given a new job. This one more intensive than sitting around a fire all day.

Deep in the Mirrored Peaks proper, towns were giving reports of a cult that would attack them nightly, taking livestock and anyone found wandering outside. They would split their victim open inside of hidden caves and drink their blood. Did bizarre and perverse rituals with them before dumping their ruined body out on public roads. They called themselves the Order of Sanguine. "Blood Cult" was the more popular name given to them.

So, Adrian's battalion was one of the six assigned to patrol the region where the Blood Cult was rumored to have the strongest presence. They were to walk the four-mile trail between the two towns of Quiet Peak and Farlow. Once they arrived at their destination, another battalion would then hike to the town where they came. Rest up until another battalion came into town. Detain anyone with more blood on the outside of their body than the inside. Shoot anyone who did not comply.

 _Orders are orders_ , Adrian thought as he placed one foot in front of the other. He and his fellow troopers marched in two files through a light snowfall. It reminded Adrian so much of home.

They passed through a narrow valley, one lined with snowy pine trees on both sides. Adrian always thought the place was the perfect spot for an ambush, but nothing ever occurred whenever they passed it.

A few rows in front of Adrian, a group of troopers cried out and pointed to their right. Adrian followed their gaze and saw a large boulder rolling down the hill towards them. They broke rank and ran back to get out of its way. The boulder did not crush anyone, but it blocked their path forward.

Adrian took his musket off his back and swung it into a ready position with his sling.

 _I hate being right_.

An officer on horseback trotted to the front to direct the troopers. As he started to shout, a bone tipped arrow sailed through the air and impacted him in the side of the neck. He fell to the ground, holding his throat as blood bubbled around his mouth.

Maddox took his place, dodging arrows and ordering his men and women to get into whatever cover they could find and fire back.

The attackers came streaming out of the woods now. Men and women of all shapes and sizes, dressed in ragged, stained furs and had their faces covered with red war paint.

Or at least Adrian hoped it was war paint.

The Blood Cultists threw themselves at the troopers even as they fired back. Their insane expressions twisted into faces of utter frenzy and bloodlust, even worse than the bandits Adrian encountered months ago.

Another boulder rolled behind the patrol's lines, almost crushing several troopers.

As the cultists came sliding down the slopes, Adrian fixed his bayonet. He bought up his rifle just in time to fire at a cultist at near point blank range.

"I'll drink your blood! Blood for the blood god!" a wiry man with greasy shoulder length hair shouted as he approached Adrian. He jumped up and over a tree stump and fell on Adrian's outstretched bayonet. Even with his heart pierced by the blade, be screamed and tried to stab Adrian with his dull iron dagger.

Adrian slammed the insane cultist down on the ground and twisted his bayonet until he died.

He looked up and saw Maddox trying to regain control of the terrified battalion.

A girl named Allison went down as a cultist knocked her to the ground and slit her throat with his cleaver. Adrian avenged her by charging and spearing the cultist in his flank with his bayonet.

Kallum took an arrow to his left thigh and another through the shoulder. He fell down, cursing.

Adrian ran to him and pulled him behind a rock.

"Shit, shit, shit- that hurts!" he said, applying pressure to his wounded shoulder.

Adrian put pressure on his thigh. "It's okay, I'm here. Where's our medic?" he said, looking around.

Another cry went out close to him.

Maddox received an arrow through his foot. Two arrows impacted with his horse, sending the animal down. His leg was trapped underneath the fallen horse.

Adrian saw that all of the other officers were doing down dead or wounded. The cultists knew who to target.

 _We are not going to die here_ , he thought. _I haven't killed an elf. Haven't found what I'm looking for._

Adrian ran up from cover.

"34th! Stand and fight!" he shouted over the chaos.

Adrian drew Dragonbane from its sheath and waved it above his head.

"Form your firing lines! Fix bayonets! Don't let them through!" he shouted as he ran down the line, slinging his musket onto his shoulder. He spotted Oswald down the line, struggling not to be eviscerated by a sword wielding cultist twice his size. Adrian ran up to the cultist and gripped Dragonbane with both hands before thrusting it forward into the cultist's neck. He let the body drop and helped up Oswald. He slapped his friend on the shoulder and ran off.

"We are not dying to these bastards! Think about the day when we make landfall in Summerset! I want to live to see that day and I want each and every one of you to be there too!"

Adrian roused his fellow troopers, who stopped cowering behind cover and went to give each other fire support. Adrian picked up a fallen revolver at some point. Despite his first time using it, he used it very effectively and used all six rounds to save six trooper's lives.

The battle continued in a blur of blades and blood. But Adrian had only one thing on his mind.

 _I'm not dying today._

 _Not today._

 _Not today._

* * *

Fifty Commonwealth troopers were killed and almost everyone was wounded in some way. Every officer, save Maddox, was slain. But under Adrian's guidance, they killed the attacking Blood Cultists, over a hundred of them, to the man.

As medics hauled away Maddox, he looked Adrian in the eye and nodded quickly at him.

Adrian did not need him to say anything to know he was proud.

* * *

"Trooper Arnaldus. You have a dispatch."

Adrian looked up from his conversation with Kallum and Oswald to look at the courier. They were resting in a cozy cabin within the town of Farlow. It had been a week after the battle in the valley. Maddox was still recovering, as was most of the battalion. Kallum said he might be forced to leave the army due to his wounds.

"Looks like you're finally getting kicked out, Arnaldus," Oswald joked.

"Shut up," Adrian said as he took his letter.

He opened the letter and read it. Then reread it.

 _Attention Trooper Arnaldus,_

 _You have been recommended for officer's training by Colonel Maddox. Your commanding officer has recommended you for based on your exemplary skills, both martial and tactical, in the field of battle. If you wish to begin your schooling in the Officer's Corps, please write a request to transfer to the Officer's Corps (form attached) to:_

 _Commonwealth Department of War_

 _Attn: General Rolf Pater_

 _331/F Sovereign Street_

 _Dracka 44576_

 _Be sure to attach this letter as well._

 _Regards,_

 _Lieutenant Colonel Mason Tyme_

Adrian showed the letter to his friends.

"By the Nine…" Kallum muttered.

"Shit, I got to answer to you now?" Oswald said.

* * *

 _Camp Victory_

 _State of Kellion_

 _Central Rynn Commonwealth_

 _4E 230_

Lieutenant Colonel Adrian Arnaldus faced the recruits assembled before him. It was a far cry from when he stood there over fifteen years prior. These recruits looked fresh, but they were certainly not as fresh as they looked. Most of them had been in various academies since they were twelve years old. They stood still, feet together, hands behind their backs.

Adrian smiled at them.

"My name is lieutenant colonel Adrian Arnaldus. Welcome to the 88th Special Purpose Infantry. I will be your commanding officer and will be overseeing your training."

"In one years' time, we will be storming the beaches of Summerset and bringing ruin to the elves. I trust you all want to do that as much as me. But, this is a foe unlike any we have seen. It will take perseverance and no small amount of skill to best them."

Adrian looked over his soldiers. Two stood out to him. A young, bearded man with icy blue eyes. A young woman, very beautiful and very determined looking.

He clapped his hands.

"Let's begin."

* * *

 **A/N: Alright, obligatory flashback scene done. We can get back to the real war.**

 **That... Was really, really long. I hope you're still with me!**

 **If anyone was wondering, the Dragonborn and Lydia described in earlier chapters are the same DB + Lydia in my story "I Will Carry Your Burdens." If you're interested in some mushy romance and where Adrian came from, check it out.**

 **Shameless self promotion over. See you next time.**


	8. Chapter 8: Automata

"Sir? Sir? Hell-ooooooooo…?"

Adrian stirred awake suddenly. Someone was at the door to the study, calling him.

He shoved off the small mountain of blankets he had buried himself under on the couch. The fireplace had burnt out, with only embers and blackened wood remaining.

Mira stood at the doorway. She smiled at him softly.

"Wha-?" he groaned.

Mira shifted on her feet. "Colonel Shafer informed me that you have a meeting with the rest of the officers in ten minutes."

Adrian groggily swung around and put his bare feet on the ground.

"Gods. What time is it?"

"About 11 o' clock, sir."

"Oh. I really should get an alarm clock."

He got out of bed and stood up, stretching his sleeping limbs.

Mira turned red.

"Thank you, first sergeant," he said.

She saluted. "I'll be going now. See you later, sir."

Adrian realized he was only wearing a thin shirt and his underwear.

 _Great job. She'll go and report you for harassment now,_ he thought to himself as he went to retrieve his roughly folded uniform shirt, coat, and slacks from a nearby desk. He pulled on his uniform and then grabbed his shoulder holster. It had been slung over Dragonbane's hilt, which in turn was leaning against a wall.

Adrian finished his ensemble by putting on his peaked cap, which he had hung off his sword's pommel. He stared at his face in a mirror. His eyes were bleary from suddenly being awoken from sleep. An unruly stubble clung to his cheeks and jaw. His uniform needed a wash. _He_ needed a wash.

He then walked out of the mansion and onto the grounds, where the officers met in a large tent.

Commander-General Zigus was there. He began shortly after Adrian showed up.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen."

Zigus regarded the assembled officers with his piercing, hawk-like eyes.

"I am very proud of you and your troopers for making good progress into the interior of Summerset, but we have much ground to cover. We have landed nearly a million troops into the isles and have gained control of the entire Lillandril Peninsula. Dominion control on the mainland has been shattered, with the Altmer in Valenwood all but destroyed and diplomatic relations being established in Elsweyr. We must plan our next moves carefully, however. The Dominion will not rest on their laurels much longer. Their forces are scattered across the isles after their defeats at Trovver's Stead, Eastrun River, and Kanddaria. However, we have reason to believe that their forces are regrouping in the major cities and trying to fortify every possible route into Alinor."

Zigus pointed at the map of Summerset they were gathered around.

"I am dividing every regiment into three armies. 1st Army will be heading northeast, to secure the northern coast and establish ports that we can use to launch invasions of Auridon Island east of Summerset. 2nd Army will sweep down the west coast, with the primary objective of seizing the city of Riverwatch, the closest major settlement to Alinor. 3rd Army will head immediately east and take the city of Cloudrest, a major city on the foot of the Eton Nir Mountains. This is an imperative target- if any of the elven military escapes us after we take Alinor, they will most likely head to the mountains and they will without a doubt try to regroup and make counterattacks. It will be like the bandits and cults of the Mirrored Peaks all over again. Plus- the Eton are full of natural resources, especially metal and ore. We take that- we'll have a source for ourselves and will deprive the elves of their largest source of raw war materials."

Zigus spent the rest of the meeting talking about the finer details of his plan. Adrian and his men were part of 3rd Army and if there was ever a battle Adrian dreaded, it was this one. It had the hallmarks of a bloodbath for both sides. Mountains. Uneven terrain, rough weather conditions. A city. Nothing good ever happened in urban combat.

After they were dismissed, Adrian saw a massive airship descending on the edge of the estate's grounds, where ground crews tethered the slate grey beast to some trees. The black block letters on the ship's starboard side revealed it to be the Rynn Commonwealth Airship _Paladin_. Its huge cargo bay doors were open and it was unloading troops and equipment. Adrian saw most of his own men had broken down camp already and were waiting to board the airship as well. Zigus informed the officers that the armies would be transported by airship to their objectives and elements of the Commonwealth Air Corps would be providing fire support.

Adrian sat down with his men, eating some ration crackers as his brunch. He watched in amusement at the lumbering metal tanks disembarking from the _Paladin's_ hold. Their diesel engines rumbled loudly as they patched and black smoke belched out of the exhaust. Their metal threads cut a path through the vineyards and trees and troopers dodged out of their way as they craned their necks to watch them pass. Adrian was impressed by illustrations and photographs of them, but in person, the unwieldly machines were almost amusing in the way they moved rolled forward.

Mira sat down next to him. She looked at her and smiled.

"We got our orders, sir?" she asked.

"Yeah. We're heading out to take a city called Cloudrest, in the mountains to the east. I'll give a full briefing once we're airborne."

Mira nodded. She too knew that taking Cloudrest would not be an easy task.

"Well, at least we're not marching," she said, motioning to the airship.

Adrian smiled. "Yeah, at least."

Later that night, once they were airborne, Adrian made his way from the rabble and noise of the general passenger cabins to the officer's cabin. The accommodations here were somewhat nicer, with a lounge and reading room, along with two to three man bunkrooms, rather than the enlisted men sleeping all in one place. The flight would only take a day, but the small comforts were appreciated.

Adrian settled in a chair in the reading room and picked up a copy of the _Dracka Ledger_ , the Commonwealth's most widely read newspaper. It was a few days old, but any news of the rest of the world was news to him.

The front page was typically dominated by one headline and several smaller stories at the peripheries. He looked at tonight's headline.

" _SCIENTISTS DISCOVER BUILDING BLOCKS OF OUR WORLD- UNTOLD SCIENTIFIC POTENTIAL TO BE FOUND_

 _DRACKA- The Ministry of Science has announced a recent discovery by scientists of the University of Dracka, one that may change how we see the world._

 _Scientists have discovered microscopic particles that are said to make up all things and be the basic building blocks of all forms of matter. These particles have been dubbed "atoms." While information about this discovery is still scant for the general public, a Ministry of Science spokesperson stated that the discovery of atoms can reveal much about the fundamental forces of Nirn, including the forces of magic. The atoms were discovered by Doctors Stephanie Archibald and Filip Dima while testing on a classified weapons system. At press time, the doctors believe that atoms can revolutionize communications and technology systems nationwide. Indeed, such a profound discovery can only be a boon to our Commonwealth."_

Adrian read the article with muted interest. He was no scientist, but it seemed interesting enough.

He looked at the other headlines, which were typically war news. The _Ledger_ was a good enough paper, but Adrian felt that most of their stories were slightly embellished. Or made up at times.

" _VICTORIES MOUNT AGAINST THE DOMINION,"_ one headline said, although there was typically at least one headline like that in every issue.

" _ALTMER SAVAGES MURDER OVER 70 IMPERIAL NATIONALS IN VALENWOOD."_ according to the reports Adrian had read about the incident, the number was closer to three.

He finished his paper and settled down the armchair, looking out the window. The land below was dark, but he could see it was threatening to storm.

 _At least we're not walking_ , he thought to himself as he went to retire to his bunkroom.

* * *

Doctor Arkan Anders pushed his spectacles up from the bridge of his nose. The wiry academic looked up from his notes at the scowling visage of the Commonwealth's Minister of War, Gregor Raud. The older man folded his arms, obviously tired of waiting for results.

"Doctor Anders, I appreciate the research you are doing, but I am yet to see any concrete results," he intoned.

Anders waved his hand. "Don't worry minister, I have three things to show you today."

They were in the hidden bottom levels of the Mikroth Hall for Technological Development, the largest building on the University of Dracka's campus. Here, various weapons were tested in the soundproof, subterranean, and well-guarded wing officially known as Sub Annex 8. Also known as "The Dungeon" to those who had access to the place.

Anders, Raud, their respective staff members, and Major Jakub Keen were standing on a raised platform surrounded by hardened glass. The platform overlooked a large, square space in front of them, where the weapons were tested. This space was affectionately known as "The Arena."

Anders pressed a button on the control console before him. A door opened in the space.

Two guards in full protective armor hauled out a struggling Altmer prisoner. They bought him to a metal post in the center of The Arena, where he was handcuffed.

"That elf down there is a prisoner who was arrested for assault and theft in the Imperial City. A contact I have there provided him for our research," Anders explained.

Anders pressed a button for the intercom. "Please begin the demonstration."

The two guards retreated back from the prisoner. A third man emerged, covered head to toe in a protective smock. His face was covered by a thick scarf and goggles. He held a cylinder slightly larger than a mortar shell. The prisoner stopped his struggling and looked at the man.

"What is that?" he shouted. "Let me go! I will not be a part of this!"

The man ignored his angry pleas and set down the cylinder next to him. He pulled a cord and ran back.

A yellowish gas began to emanate from the cylinder, with the cylinder hissing loudly.

"I recommend you cover your mouth and noses for this," Anders said. His lab assistants distributed surgical masks to the onlookers.

The elf was overcome by the gas. He began to cough as he breathed it in. The coughing was replaced by choking. He struggled against the restraints for a moment. Then he was still.

Vents and fans activated to blow out the gas. The spectators wordlessly removed their masks.

"By the Nine," Raud muttered. "What in Oblivion was that?"

Anders smiled grimly. "Choke-Gas. Can be deployed by mortar, bomb, or artillery. Hard to avoid and lethal. It can leave structures intact for later use and clear out enemies hiding or entrenched."

Raud nodded. "Impressive work, doctor. What else do you need to show me?"

After the elf and the gas was cleaned up, Anders called out to his demonstrators on the intercom.

A large door opened and a huge machine came lumbering out. Raud thought it was another kind of tank. But he noticed this thing walked upright on two legs. It also had two arms, each with a pair of Reciprocator machine guns affixed. It was bronze colored and stood at least ten feet tall.

It resembled the Dwemer Centurions he had only seen pictures and sketches of. Not to mention the stories he had heard of their terrible power.

But, this machine was not an automation. He could clearly see a man situated within the awesome machine, piloting it. His helmeted and masked head seemed tiny between the machine's shoulders.

The pilot moved his engine forward and it walked forward, with a strange precision and grace.

"What is that?" he asked Anders in wonder.

"That is the Model 3 Wyvern Powered Armor Engine. The perfect marriage of man and machine. Can turn an ordinary soldier into a walking tank."

Anders ordered the pilot to march around and then demonstrate his machine guns.

"We can carry over ten thousand rounds of ammunition onboard one engine. With greater funding, we can expand its capabilities and begin training pilots."

As the Wyvern exited The Arena, Raud could only nod in amazement.

"That… that is something, doctor," Raud said, nearly dumbfounded.

Anders smiled. "One last thing for today."

Raud nodded, excited to see what was next.

Anders gave the reins to Doctors Stephanie Archibald and Filip Dima.

Archibald threw her red hair in a ponytail as she stepped forward. "Thank you, Doctor Anders."

She motioned to Dima, who bought up a heavy looking control console, which resembled a cross between a wireless radio and a typewriter.

Another door opened and Dima pushed the brass keys.

Pneumatic assisted limbs propelled forward a golden machine, with the shape of a man but with a skeletal frame, long, tapered blades for arms, and a round, blank, golden face.

Raud's jaw dropped when he realized the machine had no human operator. It was completely automated.

An automaton. Not seen since the times of the Deep Elves.

Sensing his surprise, Archibald smiled. "The Mark 1 Battle Automata, ready for service, minister."

Dima keyed in more commands on his console. The automaton looked up at the observers and raised a bladed arm in salute.

Raud laughed. "That's… that's amazing."

"Watch this," Dima said.

Another Altmer prisoner was pushed into The Arena. This time, he was armed with a sword. He faced the automaton and rushed at it. He had probably been told that he would be freed if he destroyed the machine.

Dima typed a command into the console.

The automaton put out its bladed right arm and impaled the charging elf, who dropped his sword. It promptly raised its victim several inches off the ground and began to stab him through the chest with its other arm several times in very rapid succession before effortlessly tossing away the now deceased elf.

"We will be-"

"Unstoppable?" Anders finished for him.

Raud nodded. "Yes. Yes, we will, doctor."

They left the building as the guards cleaned up the mess.

All the while, Raud was thinking of how he was going to propose a massive funding grant.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the slightly shorter chapter, but I know that the Battle of Cloudrest will need a whole chapter dedicated to it. I hope you're enjoying so far, and I will see you all on the field of battle soon!**


	9. Chapter 9: The Battle of Cloudrest

"Get down! _Down!_ "

Adrian dived out the way of the flaming boulder, hurled by a catapult over the walls of Cloudrest. It impacted a mere yard away, crushing three troopers and sent Adrian sprawling to the ground, his ears ringing and the shock of the nearby impact reverberating in his core.

It seemed that time slowed around him as he pushed himself up from the frosty ground. The sounds of gunfire and shouting became dull, pushed to the back of his mind for the moment.

 _I'm not dead. This is a start._

 _Okay. Sword. Pistol. It's all there. Get up._

 _Wait._

 _Where's my cap? It's my only one._

Adrian turned and saw that his peaked cap had flown off his head, landing several feet away. He reached out slowly to grab it. He took it in both hands as he stood up and carefully replaced it on top of his head.

Suddenly, time resumed its normal pace. The cacophony of war exploded in his mind.

The elves were dug into Cloudrest and had set up siege engines behind the walls, which relentlessly launched flaming projectiles at the Commonwealth attackers. To add to this, there seemed to be thousands of archers, crossbowmen, and ballista set up on the battlements, raining down arrows and bolts nonstop.

The troopers were forced to take shelter behind a low ridge as they waited for something to happen to take down the resistance.

Adrian flopped down next to some of his troopers, who were lying prone and rather futilely firing their rifles at the battlements.

There were a few other battalions who attempted to charge up and over right at the walls. Their broken bodies littered the no-man's-land between the Commonwealth's position. Adrian realized death-or-glory charge will only result in just that. Death.

They had artillery support, but whatever they were doing, they were not doing it right. The shells were falling short and landing in the no-man's-land, kicking up great clouds of dirt and mud.

A tank rolled next to Adrian, the engine rumbling loudly even as it idled. It turned its main gun upward and fired off several shells at the walls, which did little damage. Adrian recanted his earlier thoughts about the tanks being unwieldy and amusing looking as they rolled along. Now, he saw their true potential as formidable, maybe even nigh-unstoppable war machines that the elves had no counter against. At the very least, he was glad they were on his side.

"Eckstrom! Get over here!" Adrian shouted. The man sprinted over, one hand gripping his rifle and the other holding his helmet in place as he ran, head bent down. He seemed suddenly unburdened by his heavy wireless.

"Have you heard anything about our support?" he asked.

Eckstrom shook his head. "No, sir. The _Paladin_ is quiet, too."

Adrian grunted in frustration. "Give me that thing," he said. Eckstrom presented him with the handset.

"Ring up the _Paladin_ for me," he said as he placed the handset to his ear.

" _This is the_ Paladin _, go ahead,"_

" _Paladin,_ this is LC Arnaldus. Where in Oblivion is our air support?" he snapped, voice rising.

" _Sir-_ "

"You've got thousands of troops down here who can't move an inch forward without getting an arrow up their ass. The elves have siege engines and are getting more and more dug in the longer we sit here. Where are you guys?"

" _Sir, I'm trying to tell you that we are on our way. In fact, you should see us now…"_

Adrian looked up just in time to see the massive bulk of the _Paladin_ sail through the dull grey clouds overhead.

It turned slowly, but steadily towards the city walls. The defenders turned their attention to the massive airship, but every attack fell short of doing any damage.

Once it was directly parallel to the city walls, the bomb bay doors opened. The _Paladin_ wasted no time raining down several tons of ordnance on the walls and their defenders.

In the blink of an eye, the walls were reduced to rubble. The shockwaves of the bombing vibrated the ground and his heart, even several hundred feet away.

There was a brief, precious moment of silence as the dust settled. Only the rumbling of the tanks and the adrenaline induced rough breathing of the troopers penetrated the air.

Now was the time to charge.

Adrian drew Dragonbane.

"88th! Up and over! On me!"

Thousands of trooper from different regiments leapt over the top in a singular charge. Battle cries pierced the air. Adrian charged at the head of his troopers, leaping over the blast craters and small obstacles in his way.

"For the Commonwealth!" he shouted as he approached the walls.

 _For Naomi_ , he said in his mind.

The Commonwealth troopers poured into the city past the ruined walls.

Down a wide avenue, a large force of elves had congregated, holding their ground as the Rynn approached.

Their bayonets fixed and adrenaline flowing in their veins, the 88th met them in a bayonet charge.

"Kill them all! Tear them to pieces! _NO SURVIVORS!_ " Adrian roared as he reeled back to swing his sword.

His first blow caught an unprepared elf across the neck. The slash was so strong, it tore his neck wide open and threw his head back. The elf fell and was trampled by the other troopers.

Around him, dozens of elven defenders fell, unprepared for the Commonwealth's surge forward. He saw his men fighting with an unrelenting savagery, sending their opponents to their deaths with the tips of their bayonets.

He saw Mira several feet in front of him. She was on the ground, her knees on top of the chest plate of an Altmer warrior. Her helmet had come off and her mask had dropped down around her neck. She was throttling the unfortunate warrior, who was nearly twice her size, with everything she had.

He swung around and shot his pistol point blank at an attacker's face. The bullet punched through the bridge of his nose, causing a deformed wound to mushroom out. Adrian turned on his heels and deftly shot an incoming elf in the gut. Wounded, he fell to his knees where Adrian ran his blade through his throat.

He then faced a third challenger. Adrian rapidly unloaded two rounds into his breastplate before swiftly finishing him off with a headshot. He holstered his now empty pistol and immediately slammed his blade into an elf's breastplate, wrapping his free arm around his neck while he shoved the blade further in.

As Adrian kicked the dead warrior off his blade, he could see the remaining Altmer running.

He faced his surviving troopers and was glad to see most had survived this engagement. He smiled broadly, even as flecks of blood ran down his face.

"Well, that was a good warm up. But let's not dawdle- we have our orders."

Their orders to clear resistance on the eastern streets and make their way to the governor's palace. The large building with its ostentatious white and gold dome could be seen directly north of their position some ways away.

The 88th made their way down the streets. It made Adrian think of Lillandril, a mere two months ago.

Elsewhere, the battle raged on. Gunfire cracked and echoed in the distance. Artillery continued to rain from the sky, striking unseen targets further in the city.

The city was built much more vertically than most elven cities and Adrian found himself continuously moving uphill to the palace.

He stopped suddenly, as did many of his troopers, when a large group of figures rounded a corner.

Adrian did not recognize who they were and feared they might have been more Altmer.

One of the figures raised his arms up and stepped forward.

"Friendly!" he said.

Adrian relaxed. They were more Commonwealth troopers.

"Friendlies. I'm LC Arnaldus of the 88th. Where you boys and girls from?"

Their black and grey coats gave it away. "Swordbreakers. We're heading to the palace."

"We are too. Can we tag along?"

The man smiled. "Of course, LC. I'm LC Rainer Kass.

The two regiments proceeded to head to the objective side by side. Adrian walked with Kass the whole way, bantering about their engagements.

As they approached an inn near a city square, a crossbow bolt flew out of one of the inn's windows and struck one of Kass's men in the chest.

"Shit! We got elves in the inn!" Kass growled.

The two LCs took cover behind a wagon.

"Alright, I can take a few of my men and clear that place if you can get some covering fire-" Adrian started.

"Wait!" Kass interrupted his thought. "Let's try this."

"Kross! Rummo! Get up here!" Kass called.

Two of his men rushed up. They were wearing heavy steel armor that gave supreme protection to their upper bodies and wore steel helmets that protected their whole heads with only a single, tempered glass eye slit set into the metal, reminiscent of a sleeker knight's helmet. The helmet had a pair of hoses connected on either side to a large tank on the back.

Adrian recognized them as the newly deployed Flamer Units. The tanks provided oxygen to the trooper as he wielded the newfangled Flame Siphon, a deadly and horrific weapon which breathed fire like the dragons Adrian had only heard stories about. A major problem for the Commonwealth was countering or having an equal to destructive elemental magic. The Siphon was the answer.

It was composed of a heavy backpack fuel tank, connected by a hose to the main Siphon, where the gasses and liquid needed for the process were mixed in a bell shaped receptacle attached to the bottom of the Siphon. With the pull of the trigger, a gout of flame could he thrown around 65 feet from the user, incinerating everything that stood in its path.

Adrian heard rumors in the officer's circle that all of the Flamers were individuals with pyromania tendencies recruited from prisons and mental health facilities.

"Get out there and burn those bastards out!" Koss ordered his pyromaniacs.

They nodded eagerly and wasted no time getting out of cover and jogging as fast as they could toward the inn while weighed down by their weapons and armor.

Crossbow bolts and arrows deflected off their gunmetal grey armor and they stood close to the inn even as the elves focused all their attacks on them.

"Fire cleanse this filth!" one of them shouted, his voice hollow and reverberated by his helmet.

The pair unleash a stream of flame onto the wood and stone building. It went up like dry tinder on a campfire.

Fire poured from every window and the door abruptly shot open. A trio of elves, choking on the smoke and desperately attempting to escape the scorching fire ran into the street.

The Flamers turned their weapons to the survivors and immediately released gouts of flame on their new victims. They continued to burn them even as they withered on the ground and screamed.

"Listen to that, LC," Kass said as he watched the attack from his position. "Music to my ears!" he said with a sadistic grin.

A burning elf jumped out a second story window to escape the fire, but it was too late. He burned on the ground as he rolled around for a minute and then was still.

A soft breeze pushed the smell of burning flesh and wood over to Adrian's position.

Kass stood up, grinning slightly. "Perfect. Your guys need to get some of these Siphons in your unit. Saves a lot of time and bodies."

One of the Flamers lumbered over to Kass, Siphon held skyward in one hand.

"Anything else you need, sir?" he asked like an overeager child. Adrian could tell the man was just itching to burn something else.

Kass clapped his shoulder. "Not right now, son. Soon."

The Flamer gave a disappointed salute and turned to join his comrades.

As the two regiments walked down to the palace, the sounds of conflict grew louder and louder. They all turned around a corner to a main square, just in front of the palace.

A large bolt of flame flew down the avenue, hurled by an Altmer mage. The troopers ducked behind cover with other troopers who had arrived before them.

Adrian crouch-ran to a colonel ducked behind a broken wall. He was peering down a pair of binoculars, grimacing.

"What's the story, sir?" he asked the man

The colonel pulled the field glasses away from his face and looked at Adrian.

"My men and several other regiments have been tied up on this main approach to the palace for half an hour now. We're gaining slowly, but steadily. Glad to have the help," he said, referring to Adrian's and Kass's troops.

"Glad to assist," Adrian said.

He ran back to where some of his troops were crouched.

"Listen up," he said to a group of officers. "I need three squads to come with me and everyone else provide cover fire. We're going to clear out the elves from their positions."

Three officers volunteered their squads. Adrian was prepared to move out when Kass ran up to him.

"LC Arnaldus- take my Flamers," he said.

Adrian nodded his thanks and waved forward the four armor clad men to him.

"What do we need to burn?" Flamer Vis asked Adrian.

He smiled at the man's eagerness to burn things. It was cute. In a way.

"Anything with pointier ears than us," he said.

Adrian could sense the man smiling behind his faceless helmet.

"Immolation assured," he said, gripping his Siphon in both hands.

"Follow us, we'll lead the way and clear a path," his comrade, Flamer Tarrick said, bobbing his head.

"You got it," Adrian said. He sheathed his blade and drew his pistol, making sure a fresh magazine was loaded. It was times like these he wished he could get something with a little more capacity.

"Flamers, move!" Vis said. He and his fellows moved forward, four abreast, drawing arrows and bolts from all sides. They released flames in synch, burning out the elves cowering behind cover.

"Let's go!" Adrian shouted as he and his men ran behind.

The Flamers made quick work of the entrenched Altmer. The remaining warriors who were not burned were they stood retreated back.

A few managed to survive the attack, but they were mopped up Adrian's forces.

Altmer reinforcements ran out of the palace and set upon the advancing Commonwealth forces with arrows and crossbow bolts.

"Get in cover!" Adrian shouted to his troopers. They piled behind an ornate stone wall, where they propped up their rifles and opened fire on the elves across from them.

Adrian ducked in and out of cover to take shots with his pistol. The troopers killed all who emerged, but they just kept coming. The elves were not going to give up the palace without a fight.

A black robed Thalmor mage stepped forward, dodging bullets as purple and black energy swirled around his hands.

"Someone get that elf!" Adrian shouted, as he shoved a fresh magazine into his pistol.

It was too late. The mage pushed out his hands and unleashed a wave of arcane, magical energy. In front of him, a pile of dead Altmer killed by Commonwealth rifle fire rose to their feet.

Kass ran up next to Adrian. He looked utterly disgusted.

"Look at this! The filth is using necromancy!" he said.

"We killed them once- we can do it again," Adrian said as he took aim.

The newly reanimated Altmer lurched up towards the Commonwealth forces, but Flamer Vis stood up with one foot on the wall and aimed his Siphon at the undead.

"Back to Oblivion with you!" he shouted as he unleashed the Siphon's flame.

The undead were consumed by flames in an instant. Each one succumbed to the searing flame and each disintegrated into a cloud of blue ash upon their destruction.

"Such corruption," Vis remarked as he ported his Siphon.

The remaining elves were retreating back into the interior of the palace as the Commonwealth troopers began to converge on the palace.

Adrian and the rest of the forces sprinted the rest of the way to the ornate palace doors, fixing their bayonets or drawing blades in anticipation of a melee confrontation.

From the moment they walked into the palace's splendid and spacious entry hall, the remaining Altmer feverishly put up an ultimately futile defense.

Adrian holstered his pistol and drew Dragonbane, the metal of his blade glistening in the lamplight. He stood at the head of his troopers and shouted in rage as he gripped his sword tightly and approached his enemies.

His vision narrowed and the feeling of slowed time returned. All he could think about was the ways he was taught to control his blade as he swung it almost unconsciously and stabbed with a strange sort of fluidity and grace. The blade was an extension of his arm and he could control it like he was moving a hand. He guided it elegantly to punch through armor, slice open throats, and ultimately take life.

In his battle-trance, Adrian got separated from the bulk of his unit as he cut a swathe deeper and deeper into the palace. The wooden floors were slick with blood and covered with the dead and dying on both sides. The Commonwealth fought with unrelenting ferocity and the elves returned in kind. Adrian was one of the most ferocious warriors that day, killing dozens of challengers and suffering numerous wounds, but he kept going, oblivious to his injuries and fatigue.

Adrian withdrew his blade from an Altmer warrior's throat when he turned to face a Thalmor Justiciar. The elf stood a head taller than Adrian and looked imposing in his black and gilded hooded robe. He faced Adrian and narrowed his eyes. In his hand was a long, thin saber with a thin wooden grip and a pearly white blade.

He stood up in a ready stance. Adrian held his sword across his chest, ready for an attack.

"You've come far to die today, Rynn," the Thalmor taunted.

"I've come a long way to kill you," Adrian said.

"Such bravado. Much like your father," the elf said with a grin.

Adrian was taken aback.

"What did you say?"

"I know you, Adrian Arnaldus. I know you're here to fulfill your little revenge fantasy. All because your whore sister died years ago," the Thalmor said.

At the insult to Naomi, Adrian shouted and charged the Thalmor agent, who smiled at him and began to sprint away.

"Come back here!" Adrian snarled. "I'm going to cut your gods damn tongue out!"

The elf ran into a side room and disappeared around a corner. Adrian promptly followed him in and rounded the corner.

He came face to face with a dozen Thalmor warriors, who backed up the Justiciar.

The Justiciar held out a hand and projected an ethereal barrier over the door Adrian came in from, cutting off his only escape route.

"Adrian Arnaldus, son of the Dragonborn. A real thorn in our sides," the Justiciar announced.

"Like father, like son," Adrian said, drawing his pistol and holding it in his left hand.

"You are going to die here, Halfling. You should feel special, in fact. Your death has been ordered by the Thalmor High Inquisitor himself."

"I am proud of that," Adrian said. "Means I've been a real pain in the ass."

"We'll see where that boldness leads you when you're gasping at the end of my blade," the elf spat.

"You talk a good talk, elf. We'll see how you feel when I spill your guts out on the floor," Adrian shouted back.

"Enough talk! Kill him!" the Justiciar screamed as he ran forward, aided by his fellow warriors.

 _You're outnumbered 13 to 1._ Adrian thought as he cocked back his pistol.

 _Just the way dad would've liked it_.

Adrian stood his ground and shot five elves with his pistol, scoring three instant kills and mortally wounding two others. He tossed away his pistol and engaged an attacker, deflecting his unskilled blows before pressing his blade against his throat and splitting it open with one quick slice.

The dead elf fell at the feet of a comrade, who attacked Adrian with his sword in one hand and an elven dagger in the other. Adrian avoided a dagger thrust and dodged the sword's downward slice. As he dodged, he swung his own sword across the elf's flank, paralyzing him for a moment before Adrian came up behind. He wrapped his left arm around this elf's neck and leaned him back so he could thrust his sword through the back of his armor.

He tossed the dead elf off his blade, where blood dripped off the tip and pooled around his hands.

An axe wielding elf ran up for an attack, but Adrian ducked under him and picked up his previous victim's fallen dagger.

Before the axe wielder could even turn to face Adrian, he plunged the dagger into the elf's neck, where it stuck. Adrian pushed him to the ground and deftly parried an attack by another challenger.

His new opponent attacked again, but his amateurish high attack left him open for Adrian to grab his sword hand by the wrist and pull him forward, where Adrian turned his sword over and stabbed him through the base of his neck.

But this time, his blade became stuck for a precious second and he did not have time to stop an oncoming sword from slashing him across the chest, but not deep enough to do any serious damage.

Adrian shouted and shouldered the elf, sending him spinning into a wall. Adrian pinned him against the wall and held Dragonbane to the elf's throat and pressed it forward with both hands.

He let the elf fall to the ground and smear blood on the wall behind him.

Two warriors remained, along with the Justiciar. The Justiciar motioned for the two warriors to attack and they ran forward.

Adrian held his sword out and stood his ground.

They attacked simultaneously, but Adrian was able to hold his ground and blocked one after the other. Adrian swung his sword at one warrior that was stumbling around and trying to regain his balance. His blade tore through his neck and partially decapitated the elf, who instantly dropped to the ground.

The last warrior desperately tried to block Adrian's incoming attack, but was too slow. Adrian used his left hand to push up the elf's head and stuck his sword right underneath the left side of his jaw. The tip of the blade exploded out from the other side of his neck and he was dead in an instant.

Adrian let the last warrior fall and faced the Justiciar.

"Got anymore?" Adrian asked him.

The Justiciar looked enraged.

"You men are all the same. Think some small victories are indicative of something. You may fall dozens of Altmer today, but you and your precious Commonwealth will fall in time. The age of man has lasted too long- the age of the Altmer is coming, Arnaldus."

"You're wrong, elf," Adrian said. "We're going to Alinor. We will pave the way to the city with the bodies of your dead. Your days are numbered. Ours are just beginning."

"Then come on! Enough with the threats! Fight me!" the Justiciar shouted.

Adrian gripped Dragonbane, which was stained with blood all the way down to the grip.

He ran at the final elf and unleashed several attacks, which were blocked. The Justiciar was an adept swordsman. Adrian gave his that.

They locked blades and Adrian was able to push his saber out of the way. But the elf recovered and plunged the blade into Adrian's flank, in the space between his left hip and ribcage. The wound burned as the saber was pushed further in. Adrian steadied himself against the white-hot pain and pushed the Altmer back, which caused him to withdraw his sword. Adrian grabbed the elf's sword arm and slammed his sword through his arm, right near his elbow. Adrian twisted, which caused his saber to drop involuntarily to the ground.

Stunned by pain, the Justiciar dropped to his knees.

As he grabbed at the sword stuck in his arm, Adrian picked up the fallen sabre and walked behind the elf. He then plunged the thin blade right behind his collar bone and buried it up to the hilt.

The elf still managed to speak even as blood leaked from his mouth.

"Damn you… We're not done. My death changes nothing. You think we've forgotten about your father? No, Adrian. You will die in the Isles soon enough. And then your father will be next, and your whore mother too. Just wait. Just wait."

Adrian heard enough. Wordlessly, he walked behind the Justiciar and wrapped both arms around his neck in a tight grip. He wrenched his neck backwards with all his might. Adrian could feel the elf's bones crack and windpipe being crushed. With one final heave, Adrian heard his neck snap. He let the elf go and his body fell like a sack of bricks.

He looked around at the carnage he caused. The only sound was that of his labored breathing.

At some point, his body stopped pumping chemicals and hormones through his veins. His adrenaline high came down and he crashed with it.

Adrian fell down and sat up. He took a moment to retrieve his sword, still embedded in the Justiciar's arm. He laid the bloodied blade across his lap before wincing in pain and grabbing his side. The wound in his flank was bleeding freely from both the entry and exit wounds. The slash across his chest was also trickling blood and he could feel his undershirt sticking to his chest.

He did not notice that the magical barrier blocking the door has dissipated. A group of his troopers rushed in, led by Mira and Eckstrom.

They stopped when they saw him in his sorry condition.

Eckstrom looked at the dead Altmer strewn around the room.

"Holy shit, sir," Eckstrom said.

Adrian hobbled to his feet.

"I'm fine…"

He collapsed onto one knee as the pain in his torso shot up and down.

"Whoa, sir. Hold on," Mira said. She hauled him up and threw one of his arms over her shoulder. Trooper Stevan Alder stepped up to help her.

"Did we win?" he asked anyone who would reply.

"Yes, sir," someone said, but he did not know who.

"We captured the governor. All remaining elves have surrendered."

Adrian smiled, even past the biting pain. "Good job, everyone. You all did good today," he announced to everyone around him.

"Well, none of us killed thirteen of those bastards singlehandedly," trooper Tanhause said.

"Nevermind that," Adrian said. "We took this city together despite the most intense resistance we've seen yet. What matters is that we came out on top,"

His troopers hung onto his every word. Adrian was not ready to give a whole impromptu speech, however.

"Sir, I think this is yours," Eckstrom said as he presented Adrian with his cap, which he did not even realize he had lost.

"Thank you, trooper," Adrian said as he replaced it on his head.

"Now, where are those medics?"

* * *

Several hours later, Adrian found himself with a bandage wrapped around his waist and several sutures under that. Another bandage wrapped itself around his already scarred chest, which was set to receive a new set of scars.

He sat outside on a bench, wearing a new undershirt with his coat unbuttoned. He watched the troopers mill around, setting up a forward operating base on the grounds of the palace.

Above, the _Paladin_ floated silently and seemed to watch over the troops working below like an ancient dragon watching from a mountaintop. A fellow airship, the _Fell Sword,_ had flown in after the battle and was currently docked on one of the palace's spires. A smaller airship, the _Black Water_ , had landed in a large, open plaza and was unloading cargo and equipment.

Adrian stood up from the bench, the pain from his wound throbbing dully in his side.

He had a mission to do. After the battle, some troopers had found a large room that was apparently archive space. The Altmer loved their archives and books. Adrian knew that every regional capital kept copies of every action the Dominion took from their inception and compiled this information in massive libraries. His mission was to find out the elf who ordered the death of his father. The elf who inadvertently caused Naomi's death.

Rifle fire cracked through the air. Adrian looked at the source of the shots and saw that some troopers were executing Thalmor agents. General Zigus had ordered the summary execution of all Thalmor officials and agents captured during the battle at the discretion of their captors. All day, the blood of the unfortunate prisoners flowed freely. The lucky ones were simply executed by firing squad. However, most others were victims of whatever cruelty thought up by their captors. Adrian saw several Thalmor lynched from trees or lampposts. Some were beaten to death by rifle butts or stabbed to death by bayonets. The most unfortunate were tied to trees or similar objects and immolated by Flame Siphons.

Adrian saw two of his own troopers with a Thalmor agent. His hands were tied behind his back and he was on his side, being kicked and punched by the troopers.

"Come on you inbred filth, where's your magic?" one of them shouted at him as he delivered a kick to his stomach.

"I think he's scared, Mentz," his friend said.

Mentz bent down to the elf's level and drew his combat knife. He waved it in front of the elf's face.

"How about I cut off your fingers one by one? I think that's fair- considering what your kind has done to humanity."

Adrian gripped the man's shoulder. Both troopers stopped what they were doing and turned to salute him.

"At ease," he said. He looked at the bloodied Thalmor.

"What do we have here?" he asked.

"A prisoner that is slated to be executed, sir," Mentz replied. "Would you like to do the honors, sir?" he asked Adrian.

Adrian smiled at the man. "No, trooper. I believe I have done enough killing today. Carry on."

As he walked away, Adrian could hear Mentz say to the elf "now, where were we?"

* * *

In the cavernous archives room, Adrian spent an hour coming to dusty shelves by candlelight. Books and scrolls and loose papers were stacked as far as the eye could see. Adrian felt tiny as he navigated the rows and got lost several times looking for the row containing the records for the year Naomi died.

At long last, he found it.

It was amazing. A large, leather bound tome was all that remaining to memorialize those murdered by the Thalmor assassins. It was also amazing how easy it seemed for the Thalmor to order these deaths. This particular volume was over three hundred pages long.

Adrian carefully flipped through the pages, taking in the names that should have had no meaning to him, but did. These were the names of men and women with lives and families. Most of the time, their only crimes were worshipping the gods they wished to worship as their mothers and fathers did before them. The Dominion took that right from them.

The Justiciar Adrian killed earlier had probably killed dozens of "heretics." And he believed he was doing the right thing by doing that.

For that, Adrian relished the feeling of his life fleeting as his neck snapped.

Adrian found the page he was looking for at long last.

 _Vincenzo Arnaldus spotted in Solitude, according to our informant._

 _Captain Graaf, take your men to Skyrim and make camp near Solitude. The informant will tell you when the target has left the city walls. Carry out your orders then._

Adrian's blood went cold at how casually the Dominion official ordered his father's death. He looked at the bottom of the page. It was signed and sealed by one Ocaion Loredas.

He ripped out the page and stuffed it into his coat pocket.

Now he had a name for when they took Alinor. Ocaion Loredas was going to leave the city in a casket.

* * *

"Adrian? Adrian Arnaldus?"

He had taken a walk on the palace ground after dinner. There were not many people out at the time.

Adrian turned to see who was calling his name. An unfamiliar man around his age in an officer's coat jogged towards him, one hand keeping his pistol from wobbling around in its holster.

"Do I know you…?" Adrian began to ask when his eyes lit up in recognition.

"Oswald Fallon! My gods!" Adrian said with a smile.

The two men met halfway and gave each other a short hug.

"How long has it been, Arnaldus?" Oswald asked him.

"Two years? Three? Far too long either way, brother," Adrian replied.

The two men walked back to the palace.

"So, who are you out here with?" Adrian asked Oswald.

"32nd Mechanized. Turns out the infantry wasn't my true calling. I enrolled in tank school last year, back when I was still in Dracka."

He thumbed the lieutenant bar on his collar.

"I'm almost to your level now," he said with a toothy grin.

Adrian laughed. "Still have a long way to go to reach my level. As usual."

The two men traded their stories as they walked, each laughing riotously at the anecdotes.

"So, have you heard from Kallum?" Adrian asked when the laughter subsided.

Oswald shook his head sadly. "Not lately, no. The last I heard from him was almost a year ago. His kid was sick then. Not sure how he's doing now."

Adrian could only nod. Not much he could say to that.

"Hey," Oswald said, sensing his distress. "I looted a bottle of vintage spiced wine a few days ago. Been saving it for a special occasion. We've taken a major city and I think that deserves some celebration. What do you say?"

Adrian looked up at Masser and Secunda glowing high above. Beautiful. Immutable.

"Yeah. Let's do that."


	10. Chapter 10: Home Again

"LC Arnaldus- dispatch for you, sir."

Adrian looked up at the courier standing at the door of his room within the Cloudrest governor's palace.

He took the man's letter and eagerly tore it open. He read the letter with anticipation. When he read the last line, he could not help but smile.

His request for leave had been approved. He was getting two months off. Enough time to head back home if he could hire an airship to take him to Skyrim.

The courier returned. "Oh, almost forgot, you got another letter, sir."

Adrian laughed as he took the letter. "I'm popular today."

He read this new letter.

 _Lieutenant Arnaldus,_

 _Your presence is requested at the 20th Annual Officer's Ball and Conference in Dracka. This event, hosted by the United Commonwealth Services Guild, is an exclusive event for the finest officers from all branches of the Commonwealth Armed Forces. Your achievements on the battlefield have not gone unnoticed and this is why you are holding this invitation._

 _The event will be held on the 14th of Sun's Height, at 6 PM, located at Sentinel Hall, 344/D Founder's Boulevard. Enclosed are two tickets. We ask that you bring a plus one to this event._

 _We shall see you there._

 _Regards,_

 _Frida Yuvon_

 _Chairwoman, United Commonwealth Services Guild._

Adrian sighed as he read the last few lines.

 _I've been on the frontlines for the past two months. Haven't had much time to meet women._

Damn the officer's circle and their obsession with the status quo. It was Commonwealth tradition amongst the high class to never go to events alone. Nowadays, it was to the point where people would not be admitted if they showed up without a date.

So, he had a week to find a date and head to Dracka.

 _Great, where am I going to-_

 _Wait._

 _Go ask Mira. She likes you enough. Probably_

 _No._

 _Yes._

 _She's your adjunct. She's respectful because it's her job. All she does is give you your letters and fetch tea on occasion._

 _You're not getting married. It can be professional. I'm sure you're not the only one with this dilemma._

"Shit. Fine," Adrian mumbled to the voices fighting in his head.

If this was the worst of his problems at the moment- he did not have much to complain about.

Adrian looked in the mirror that hung in his quarters. Mirrors were a hard to come by thing out in the field and Adrian felt like an idiot carrying one around in his kit. His room appeared to be a servant's quarters before he set up in it. Still beat sleeping outside in a tent any day.

He looked like a completely different man in the mirror. Much different than when he arrived two months ago. The stubble on his chin and jaw was progressing to an unkempt beard. His clean hair cut was grown out, more than he usually kept it. He had his first bath in two weeks only last night.

Adrian sighed and smoothed out his hair, trying to make himself look presentable. When he was mostly satisfied, he grabbed his cap and headed out the door.

With Cloudrest secured, the only task left was to wait for the path to Alinor to be secured. The rest of the Commonwealth's forces would be sitting around, waiting for their orders to move out. It was estimated that it would take between two and three months to reach Alinor. From there- the final assault will begin and every rifle and blade would be needed to take the city.

For now- many were taking their well-earned leave.

* * *

At the end of the week, when Adrian was due to leave the next day, he took one last walk around the governor's palace, taking in the sights a final time before he left.

Adrian walked down the bright, airy halls, sidestepping the rubble left behind during the battle. Bloodstains still discolored the walls and floors in some places, but many troopers still milled around the halls. Some were doing administrative work, while most were enjoying the victory by sharing looted bottles of wine or collecting souvenirs.

He rounded a corner and almost ran into Mira, who stopped short and almost dropped the books hooked under her shoulder.

She stopped short, then smiled and saluted.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, first sergeant. What do you have there?" he asked, referring to the books she was carrying.

She looked down at them. "Oh, this? Just some things I found in the library. They looked somewhat interesting."

"Nice to see you're being studious. Did your leave request get approved?"

Mira's eyes brightened. "Yes, sir. I leave for Dracka tomorrow afternoon."

"And you'll be there all leave?"

"Yes, sir. I'll probably just spend the whole time lying in bed all day and reading magazines."

He chuckled. "Hm, well, maybe after all the action we've seen, that'll be for the best."

"And what will you be doing, sir?"

Adrian hesitated, deciding whether he should ask her to the ball. As friends. Or professionals. Or whatever.

"Well, I'm going back to Skyrim. Going to see my parents for the first time in… nearly a decade, I think."

"I'm sure they'll be very happy to see you again," she said.

He nodded. "Yeah. I hope."

 _Ah, damn it. Just do it._

"Oh, there's one other thing I'm doing next week."

"Well, sir, what's new in your exciting life?" she said with a grin.

"There's this… ball and dinner being held in Dracka for officers. It's an exclusive event, apparently. Invitation only."

"Well, that sounds fun. I've never been to a really fancy event like that."

"Actually- I don't know if you know about the officer's traditions, but I, well, need to bring a… uh, plus one. A partner. You know?"

"You mean a date?" she asked, a sly expression forming on her face.

"I- uh- yeah," Adrian said.

He felt an uncomfortable hotness creeping up his back.

"So, I need a date and I was wondering if…"

"I'd be honored, sir," she said.

Adrian let out a breath that he had probably been holding since he first started talking to her.

"Really? Well, I'm glad to hear that, first sergeant," he said, rebuilding his composure.

"Why don't we take the same airship back to Dracka and discuss the details then?" she asked.

Adrian nodded. "Yes, I think we can do that."

* * *

The next morning, Adrian woke bright and early and packed his rucksack. He travelled light wherever he went, with this being no exception. He packed his dress uniform, two pairs of civilian trousers and shirts, civilian shoes and socks, his toiletries, and his pistol. He kept Dragonbane on his hip since it did not fit in his pack. Plus, it made him standout.

Mira was outside already. She had packed her duffel bag and backpack and was sitting on some crates. Together, they waited for the airship _Chrysalis_ to arrive and take them back to the Commonwealth. Dozens of other troopers sat around as well, obviously eager to head back home after months of fighting.

Adrian looked at their tired, worn faces and saw that these men and women truly deserved time off- how little it may be.

"Hey, that looks like our ride," Mira said, turning his attention to the massive airship sailing over the palace's dome.

The ship came to a stop over the palace green, suspending itself over the large area cleared for it.

As the boarding ramp dropped, Adrian and Mira smiled at each other before gathering their bags and boarding.

* * *

"Sir? Sir. Wake up."

Adrian felt Mira gently nudge his shoulder with her elbow. He bolted upright, his tired mind trying to piece together his surroundings and context. Adrian looked around to see he was still aboard the _Chrysalis_. He had been slumped back in his seat in the ship's passenger cabin, his cap on his lap and his coat spread over his body like a blanket. The cabin itself was lit by only a few dim lights and the night sky stretched on forever outside the windows.

"What's going on?" he asked groggily.

Mira motioned out of the window to his right.

"We're here."

Adrian looked out and saw a sea of golden lights below.

Dracka.

The lights reflected throughout the dim cabin of the airship, making the steel ceiling appear to be covered by tiny stars.

"Wow," she said. "I've never seen anything like that," she said, referring to the sweeping aerial view.

Adrian nodded silently. The view was quite spectacular indeed.

"Captain said we'll be docking shortly," Mira said.

"Huh, I didn't hear that," he said, rubbing his head.

"Yeah, you were asleep," she laughed. "You slept almost the entire day we were in the air."

"Oh, man," Adrian said.

"Hey, I think that's the docking spire," she said, pointing at a large shape the airship was nearing.

As the ship neared, the features of the large docking spire became clear. It was a huge, obelisk-like structure that towered as tall as the White-Gold Tower and dominated the Dracka skyline. It was topped by a large, domed observation platform that the airships docked with.

This massive structure was one of the four across Dracka and could be seen for miles and miles away.

As they neared, Adrian could see the spotlights that scanned back and forth, lighting up the sky even further. The wide beams cut across the bulk of the docking spire and the grey hull of the _Chrysalis_.

The airship came within a razor's edge of colliding with the spire, where the spire crews used ropes to secure the _Chrysalis_ to the docking spire and began disembarking procedures.

Mira and Adrian walked off into the spire, with Adrian carrying her bags. They boarded one of the elevators and made it down to street level. Adrian's watch said it was around 9 PM, but the night was just beginning.

Mira and Adrian jogged across the street, dodging the impatient motorcar drivers and horses hustling down the road.

"So where we off to first, sir?" she asked as they safely reached the other side of the street.

"Well, I'm going to stop at this hotel for the night. I usually do whenever I arrive back in Dracka."

"I'll come with you," she said.

Adrian was shocked. "But… you live in the city," he said.

Mira shrugged. "Yeah, maybe an hour walk from here. I'm not about to put out 8 dollars for a taxi fare, either."

She faced him as they dodged a group of pedestrians.

"Besides, we can coordinate tomorrow and what not. I'm sure my parents wouldn't mind not seeing me for just one more day. They know I'm safe. Besides, they would probably be proud to know I spent a night out with a dashing officer and not sitting in my room."

Adrian could feel himself turning red at her last comment and hoped she could not see it in the low light.

"Well, if that's what you want, let's do it," Adrian told her as he adjusted his grip on her duffel bag.

A few blocks later, Adrian led Mira to the Belic Hotel, a modest but comfortable hotel that Adrian always stayed in whenever he came to Dracka for leave. Since he was never around long enough in the city to buy a house, the hotel was the closest thing he had to a residence in the Commonwealth.

The staff knew him well and always ensured his room, room 208 on the second floor, at the end of the half to the left of the elevator, was vacant. The staff treated him well and the rooms were well furnished for the price. Although Adrian made out well on an officer's salary, he locked away most of his money or converted it to Septims and sent home. He was saving up to buy a home in Dracka when the war was over. Maybe settle down. Although his parents told him not to, Adrian still sent home money since their days of adventuring and doing their now legendary odd-jobs were over.

"LC Arnaldus!" the woman who sat behind the front desk said when she heard the front door pushed open.

Adrian smiled and waved as he held open the door for Mira.

"Evening, Mrs. Delac," he said, tipping his cap at her with a free hand.

"And who is this?" Mrs. Delac asked when Mira walked in.

"Hello there," Mira said politely.

"Aw, Adrian- is this your girlfriend?" she asked with a chuckle.

"What? Oh- no, no! This is first sergeant Mira Durstead. She's my adjunct."

Both women seemed amused with Adrian's fumbling. Mira laughed softly for a moment.

"I'm in town for a couple of days, then I'm planning to head back to Skyrim. I have an officer's ball tomorrow evening to attend and Mir- uh, first sergeant Durstead is my partner," Adrian explained.

Mrs. Delac nodded. "Well, I'm sure you'll want your usual room. And I do believe we have a vacancy right next door for first sergeant Durstead."

Adrian checked them both in for two nights and paid 15 dollars for rooms for the both of them.

"I can't thank you enough for always having a space for me," Adrian said as he took their room keys.

"It's no problem, Adrian. We all know you and we especially appreciate the work you're doing in Summerset," Mrs. Delac said.

She faced Mira. "Now, I'm not sure if I will see you two when you leave for your ball, so I'll wish you both a safe and happy time now. And first sergeant- Mr. Arnaldus is a very good man, so you are in good hands."

Adrian felt hot embarrassment crawling up his neck once again. He unconsciously itched at his collar and nodded awkwardly.

"Thank… you, Mrs. Delac," Adrian said, his voice near a whisper. He nudged Mira's arm.

"Why don't we go?" he said to her.

Mira was obviously trying to contain her laughter, but she agreed.

Up an iron caged elevator to the second floor, the pair came out into a cool and slightly dim hallway. Their steps down the hall reverberated across the walls. Everyone who was in the hotel had probably retired for the night.

At the end of the hall, he opened her door first and placed her bags on the floor.

"Well then, I guess I'll see you in the morning," he said as he went to head to his room. He felt exhausted, even after sleeping on the airship.

"Bye, sir. I'll see you then. Goodnight," she said as she went to her room. She seemed just as tired and did not wish to stay up any longer.

Adrian pushed his way into his room and dumped his bag on the floor in front of his queen sized bed. He pushed the curtains closed, blocking out the glimmering lights of Dracka outside. Thin sheets of light managed to stream though gaps in the curtains, painting the far wall with gold light.

He tossed his coat and shirt on the armchair next to the bed and crawled on top of the sheets and dropped his head on the pillow, all while still in his undershirt and uniform trousers.

Adrian looked at the strips of light on the ceiling, while listening to the low rumble of motors and people outside.

In a moment, he fell asleep.

* * *

A knock at his door.

Adrian was laying on his stomach, his cheek pressed against the pillow and his arms splaying around his head.

He shot his eyes open and saw that the light of the new day had replaced the artificial light that speckled his room the previous night.

With a groan, he sat up and got out of bed. He went to his door and found Mira there. She was changed into a casual red blouse and grey pants.

"Morning, sir," she said.

Adrian laughed and shook his head. "What is with it with you waking up before me all the time?"

"Guess I'm just a morning person," she said before motioning to the dress uniform pants, shirt, and coat folded over her arm.

"I'm going to get these laundered, so you should give me your clothes too. Then maybe I'll get my hair done and we can meet for lunch when I get back. Sound good?"

Adrian laughed. "Well, I think you should be the commander. You got this all down very precisely."

Mira smiled at him. "I learned from the best."

"That does sound good, though. Let's try to meet in the lobby at 12:30. Sound good?"

Mira saluted. "Sounds good."

After she left, Adrian took a shower. The first real one he had in a while. In must have stayed in there for a good half an hour. A real bath or shower was hard to come by out in the field. The philosophy of the army was that water was meant for drinking first and cooking, everything else last. You would not die without a bath. Although you may feel like it.

He stepped out and dried off, running his hands through his hair, longer now than it had been in his entire life. Looking at himself in the mirror, he poked at the pink and red scar that ran across his lean, but strong chest. It was one of the almost dozen that crisscrossed his torso and back, memories of conflicts with bandits and insane cultists.

Adrian slipped on his trousers and then pulled at his unkempt beard, which was something foreign to him and transformed him into a man he did not recognize. He grabbed his shaving kit from his pack, the only luxury item he toted around. It was a gift Kallum and Oswald bought for him after he graduated from officer's school.

He ran the small block of shaving soap under hot water and lathered it up with his shaving brush. Adrian lathered himself up and went to work pulling his straight razor across his face, until every visage of his beard was gone.

Later, after he had finished shaving and washing up, he got dressed and took his now relatively well kempt self a barber down the street, who tidied up his hair into his usual style- although this time, Adrian decided to keep it somewhat longer than he always did. Still, it was short, simple, and manageable.

All that was left for him to do was wait for Mira. Her hair was cleaned and now flowed in layers around her face. When she arrived, she almost walked past him, even as he tried to look her in the eye from his seat.

"Hey," he said as she walked past.

She stopped and looked at him. She froze and looked him up and down.

"Wow. You clean up nice, sir," she said.

Adrian smiled softly. "Thank you."

As they walked to get lunch at a cheap restaurant a block away, Adrian turned to her.

"You know, you can just call me 'Adrian.' We're not on duty or anything."

"You're okay with that?" she asked. Always wanted to follow his words to the letter.

"One hundred percent," he assured her.

Mira's hazel eyes glimmered in the midday sun as she smiled warmly at him.

"Okay, Adrian."

* * *

"You all ready?" Mira said to him from the door to his room.

Adrian was looking in the mirror, adjusting every facet of his dress uniform.

He hated wearing this thing. It always felt starchy and rigid. It made too much noise when he moved his arms or twisted his body. But it looked nice. He always felt rather dashing in it.

Royal blue and gold, just like his field uniform. The coat was much less practical than the single breasted long coat he wore out in the field. Double breasted, lined by golden trim and closed by brass buttons. A white belt rounded around his waist and on it, he clipped Dragonbane. Golden lieutenant colonel clovers dotted both parts of his collar, with red and blue rank bars over his heart. And of course, he rounded it out with the same peaked cap he wore in battle.

Mira also wore her dress uniform, which was substantially less ornate than Adrian's. A simple white blouse with a royal blue and gold coat over that, and a black neck tab under her collar, completed by a blue, knee length skirt and black pantyhose. She did not have to wear a hat, so she did her hair in a loose bun with a crisscrossing braid looped around her head.

Adrian shrugged, which took some effort in his near-rigid uniform.

"As ready as I'll ever be," he said.

"Don't worry, Adrian. You look good," she offered.

"You look better," he countered.

 _Smooth_.

She smiled at that. "Thank you."

"Well, our ride is going to be here. Let's go," Adrian said.

She nodded. "Lets."

The lobby told Adrian he had a call earlier, which turned out to be a trooper that would be driving Adrian and Mira to the ball. How they managed to track him down, he would never find out.

They exited the hotel, with the sun low in the sky to find a trooper, also in dress uniform, standing by the open doors of a four seater motorcar, marked by military emblems. He saluted both of them and closed the doors behind them, with Adrian letting Mira enter the car first. Of course.

Adrian stared out the window of the car as the streets and alleys of Dracka flashed by. They came to a stop at an intersection, stopped by a police officer operating a traffic signal in the middle of the intersection. He took a moment to look at some propaganda posters plastered on the side of a nearby building.

One showed a strong and proud Commonwealth trooper plunging his bayoneted rifle into the chest of an ugly, twisted caricature of an Altmer in full armor.

"THE ELF IS A DISEASE- WE ARE THE CURE," read the caption.

The one next to it showed a trooper standing steadily in a textbook rifle firing stance. His shouldered rifle was about to fire at some unseen target.

"KEEP HIM FIGHTING- BUY WAR BONDS TODAY!"

The last one showed what Adrian assumed was a Thalmor mage, magical energies visible on his hands as he stared in horror at a tank about to roll over him.

"THEY HAVE NOTHING ON US! JOIN THE TANK CORPS!"

Mira also seemed to be looking at the propaganda.

"You got to admit, tanks are pretty cool. If I could, I'd join up with tank school," she said.

"What? And leave me?"

She laughed and punched his arm playfully. "That's why I said if I _could_."

The trooper pulled the car into the rotunda in front of Sentinel Hall. The building was an old style mansion, once owned by a noble family with a strong military tradition. It was recently donated to the United Commonwealth Services Guild and converted into a meeting hall.

Adrian thanked the trooper and helped Mira out of the car. They both walked up the marble steps to the doorman, where he presented both their tickets.

"Ah, LC Arnaldus and… Mrs. Arnaldus?"

"Oh, no, no. She's just my plus one," he said quickly.

"Oh, I apologize," he said to Mira and Adrian. "I was about to say though- husband and wife in the army! That would be something."

"Yeah…" Adrian muttered.

The doorman opened the elegant wooden doors for them.

"Enjoy, sir and ma'am," he told them as they entered.

Mira hooked her arm around his. Adrian hesitated, but did the same.

"You want me escort you in?" Adrian asked incredulously.

"Well, yeah. Let's pretend we're nobles for once and not common troopers," she said as she adjusted her grip.

"Sounds good."

They made their way past the grand entry hall and found themselves in a large dining hall with marble walls and floors and a high, vaulted ceiling. Many other couples were there, with at least one officer in each. They all sat at several long tables covered with clean, white table cloths.

Adrian and Mira took the seats marked for them ("plus one" for Mira). Food and drink was piled high all around them and seeing that everyone else had begun to eat, they helped themselves.

Adrian bit into a piece of beef and then felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Oswald there, also in his dress uniform.

He stood up and shook his friend's hand. "Why are you following me everywhere now?"

Oswald laughed. "Well, I was under the impression only good officers got invited, yet here you are."

"Boys."

A red haired woman in strapless burgundy dress grinned at the two grown men arguing.

"Oh! This Emeline. My wife," Oswald said, putting an arm around her shoulder.

Emeline smiled sweetly at Adrian and daintily shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Arnaldus."

She turned to Mira.

"And you must be…?"

"Oh, Mira Durstead. Adrian's adjunct."

Emeline nodded slowly. "Ah… nice to meet you."

"Adrian- you know that the chief of staff of the army is here, right?"

"General Hiller?"

Oswald nodded vigorously. "Oh yes."

"Wow. We must be really special."

Oswald raised his wine glass. "I'll drink to that."

He motioned for Adrian to follow.

"Come on. Sit with me. Hiller said he would be giving a speech soon.

"Yeah, sure. One sec."

He turned to Mira.

"I'm need to go and talk to some people for a while. You don't have to follow me everywhere- just… eat, drink, relax. Whatever."

Mira chewed on some mashed potatoes and poured herself a glass of wine.

"Way ahead of you."

Adrian followed Oswald to where he was sitting with several other officers. Adrian saw Emeline peel off and sit with some other elegant and refined looking women.

He took a seat next to Oswald and found himself sitting with several of Oswald's fellow tankers, along with several airmen in their steel grey uniforms and naval officers in ocean blue dress uniforms.

They nodded to him as he sat down. Adrian saw he was the only infantry officer in the group.

General Veres Hiller stood at the front of the dining hall and immediately gained everyone's attention. He was a tall, broad chested man, even at 60. He stood out even more with a scar running down his left cheek, a souvenir from hunting cultists down thirty years ago.

"Hello, distinguished men and women of the Commonwealth Armed Forces. I would like to welcome you all to our officer's ball and dinner and congratulate each and every one of you for your service to and sacrifice for the Commonwealth. Most of you have been deployed to the Isles, to take the fight to the Altmer filth and bring the fury of all of humanity down upon their wretched empire."

He paused for effect. Adrian was hooked on the man's every word.

"They, along with all of Tamriel, have seen the might of science and technology against the corrupting forces of magic. Soon, the world will see Alinor, the rotten core of the Aldmeri Dominion, burn and be purified by our cleansing flames. But, we would not have gotten this far without the combined might and cooperation of our military. On land, the army fights with fury and unrelenting force, never faltering to any opponent. On the high seas, the steel and iron of our navy effortlessly destroys anyone foolish enough to test their strength. And even in the skies, the immense power of our air fleet transports our troopers safely and quickly to wherever they are needed and rains death upon our enemies, without risking the lives of Commonwealth troopers. Truly- this night is for all of you. So please, eat, drink, be merry. Think of the difference you are making in the world every day."

Hiller stepped back. "Thank you all."

The room exploded in applause and cheers. When they subsided, a string band started playing. People began to talk, eat, and drink. Adrian talked politics and listened in on the gossip and rumors that was trending in the officer's circle. What was most interesting was the prospects of naval reform, talks of replacing the Commonwealth's aging paddle steamer fleets with newer, screw propelled ships, composed with entirely steel hulls and packed with long range rifled guns. Some in the navy even asserted that the hulls for such ships were being laid as they spoke in the shipyards at the city of Soltana, in the state of Vindalia.

A high ranking air corps officer also said that there were some competitors to Commander-General Zigus that felt he was doing a poor job leading the Commonwealth in Summerset. There was apparently a conspiracy to dispose to of him within the invasion force's high command. But everyone agreed such claims were farfetched.

Mira came up to Adrian and put both hands on his shoulders. She smiled.

"A lot of people are dancing. I was wondering if you wanted to dance," she said.

"Oh, uh, thanks but… I really don't think I'll be any good and-"

"Oh, thank gods. I hate dancing."

* * *

 _Fort Ryker_

 _Abulmuth Island, off the Commonwealth's west coast_

 _7:00 PM_

Captain Dragan Fedor looked at the recruits standing at attention before him.

The sound of the waves lapping on the white sand of the beach permeated the night air, which was lit by a few spotlights on the fort's walls.

"I'll put this simply. None of you exist at the moment. You are all supposedly stuck doing menial clerical tasks down in Summerset. Your parents don't know you're here. Your former commanding officers don't know you're here. Your friends and fellow comrades don't know you're here."

In the distance, a night bird called. Its eerie wail sent a shiver even up Captain Fedor's spine.

"This is because what you are about to learn and what you will be doing requires secrecy and precision. The military has secretly granted us a large amount of money off the books, along with access to weapons and technology the rest of the grunts will not see for months. I am here to mold each and every one of you into faceless warriors that strike from the shadows and be the last thing they will ever see."

Fedor drew his combat knife. A simple, thin bladed knife that was designed for maximum lethality and discretion in mind. He turned the blade over in his hand, so the light of Masser and Secunda reflected off it.

"You are the first of the Commonwealth Commandos."

* * *

 _City of Firsthold_

 _Auridon Island, off the east coast of the Summerset Isles_

 _12:00 PM, the next day_

The warm sea air blew against the weathered cheeks of captain Jacob Young. He loved the sea and the smell of the salt. It was beautiful and powerful.

And now, he stood on the bow of the most powerful ship to sail the seas. A ship that could probably destroy every navy in Tamriel singlehandedly.

The Steamship _Nemesis_ was a behemoth of steel and iron, a ship that was more of a floating fortress than a sailing vessel. It was powered by four boilers and two steam engines that propelled screw props. The massive vessel measured nearly four hundred feet from bow to stern. It was armed with twelve long ranged guns designed to obliterate coastal defenses. Young had no doubt that when in conflict with the Dominion's navy, all he needed to do was ram their feeble wooden vessels with the colossal bow of his vessel. No need to waste ammunition.

 _Nemesis_ was larger than anything the Commonwealth had ever built. It had a central tower for the bridge, with the other decks sloped around it, giving it a sleek and imposing look. Young could not think of any single thing the elves possessed that could possibly come close to countering his ship.

The _Nemesis_ was a warning as much as it was a fighting vessel. A warning to all of Tamriel that the Commonwealth was taking charge.

Today, he would lead the rest of the fleet stationed in the captured city of Firsthold out to the city of Skywatch, where it was believed the remaining naval power of the Dominion was hiding out. Their orders were simple.

Destroy them all.

Young turned and walked to the bridge, hands behind his back. The _Nemesis_ belched out steam as it prepared to set sail.

He doubted that his comrades would be able to keep up.

* * *

 _Outside the town of Wright_

 _State of Holderness_

 _Eastern Rynn Commonwealth_

Holderness was one of the second largest, and in inventor Ephraim Job's eyes, the most beautiful state.

It was a place of soft, rolling hills, and expansive farm fields. But most of all, it was flat. Perfect for testing his newest invention.

No one said it would work. No one believed such a thing could exist, let alone exist _well_.

But Job saw his "aeroplane" swoop down from the sky, fast at first but slowed to a controlled stop in the cleared landing field. Job thanked the Divines that the wind was not its usual, billowing self.

He checked his pocket watch. The plane stayed aloft for three whole minutes.

He jogged over to the craft, which was nothing more than some canvas pulled over a skeletal steel frame. But Job hoped to make improvements to it very, very soon.

His test pilot, Amelia Roso, jumped out of the cockpit and threw off her helmet and scarf.

"It worked! It _worked!_ " she shouted, black hair trailing behind.

She ran to him and threw her arms around him. Job laughed and hugged her back. Years of planning and trials and errors… it had finally come to this.

"That was fantastic! You kept it up there for three minutes! Oh, Amelia! This will change the world!" he said happily.

They both took a moment to catch their breath. The thrill of success was so sweet.

"Yeah, I guess it will change. Change a lot."

Job nodded and patted her on the shoulder.

"Divines know much of that has been happening."

* * *

 **A/N: And yet again- another super long chapter. Longer than I expected!**

 **The idea behind the new ship of the Commonwealth Navy was suggested to me by Strong-Willed Warrior. If you have any ideas on where this story should go or things you'd like to see, please don't be afraid to PM them to me or leave them in a review! I'd love your help brainstorming.**

 **Until next time.**


	11. Chapter 11: A Son of Skyrim

_Dracka_

 _11:00 AM_

In the small brick chapel on a busy, ignored corner, of Dracka, a crowd congregated inside.

They were men and women, young and old. Men with simple cotton shirts, stained by oil and sweat. Women with modest dresses, bought from a similarly modest tailor. Children that clung close to their parents, in awe of the fiery words of the black coated man who stood at the dais at the front of the congregation.

The building was lit by simple oil lamps, which failed to properly illuminate the space. Most of the light streamed through the grand stained glass window above the dais, which cast the light of the sun through the dusty dark of the chapel. The sun reflected off the shiny metal of the black coated man's cog medallion.

The stained glass was full of images of men toiling, striking red hot metal with hammers. Of pistons and gears, churning and working. Of great factories, which belched smoke and steam. Above it all, like some heavenly watcher, was a golden cog, wreathed in golden light.

Along with the man on the dais was a soldier, dressed in his field issue khaki field jacket. A tanker. He was kneeling before Emissary Laar, a priest of the Mechanicist order.

Corporal Myles Jordan of the 4th Mechanized could feel the words of Emissary Laar in his chest. He felt as if the man was cleansing the impurity and corruption from his soul.

"Myles Jordan," Laar said, "you come before us to seek redemption and uplifting through the grace of the Engineer."

"I do," Jordan said.

"Why is this, brother?"

Jordan directed his eyes upward.

"I was foolish. I went the way of the false gods. The path of corruption. But- I have seen the Engineer's truth. I have seen the power of holy technology and sacred machines over the elves. I have seen the machine shine like a beacon in the darkness of a world despoiled by magic. The Engineer has shown me the truth. The path for all mankind."

Laar placed both his hands on Jordan's shoulders.

"Do you disavow the false gods? Do you give yourself over to the Engineer?"

"Yes!" Jordan cried. "I disavow the Divines, the false gods that lead humanity to ruin and favor the elven filth! I have seen the triumph of the machine! I have seen the Engineer's will on Nirn realized!"

Laar smiled. He turned to his right and dipped his index finger into a small metal chalice. He withdrew his finger, now coated by black oil. Sacred machine oil.

Laar gently poked his index finger into Jordan's forehead, leaving a small spot of black oil in the center of his head.

"Then I welcome you, brother. I welcome you to the Mechanicist Order."

The Emissary helped Jordan up and embraced him. The congregation cheered. Laar let go of Jordan and turned to the crowd and held up both arms.

"Ave Machina!" he cried.

"Ave Machina!" the crowd cheered in reply.

"Ave Machina!"

 _Auridon Island_

 _1:00 PM, the next day_

Captain Jacob Young could still smell the salt of the sea as the wind blew it in from the open window of the bridge.

The sun reflected off the steel deck below the bridge. Below him, his sailors ran across the deck to their stations. Men loaded machine guns mounted on the railings while others cleaned the main guns.

The Steamship _Nemesis_ led the Commonwealth task force out of Firsthold down the southern coast of Auridon Island, the jewel of the Dominion. The elves of Auridon were people hardened by centuries of defending their homes from the Sload invaders. The Sload had been defeated numerous times, but it turned out to be the Commonwealth that did them in.

Young chuckled to himself. After the Dominion, he was sure the Sload would be the next to see their cities reduced to rubble and burned to the ground.

One thing at a time, though.

When you command the largest and most powerful ship in the history of the world, you learn to compartmentalize. Take one thing at a time.

Maybe that's what got him accepted into the Vizara Naval Academy. His natural ability to keep calm under pressure was admirable and honed by many exercises at the academy where he had to direct his theoretical crew while his theoretical ship was taking on theoretical water.

He did not look like your stereotypical navy man. He was thin framed, bespectacled, and balding at 29. As the son of a Vizaran longshoreman, he had a natural affinity for ships and the sea, as many in the port of Vizara did. Watching the great ships sail in and out of port was one of the ways he escaped the relatively dire conditions at home.

Young was the butt of many jokes back in the academy. But, the late nights of studying and writing in the library paid off and he was sure his former tormentors had not much to say about him anymore.

He kept the _Nemesis_ at half steam, solely so the rest of the task force could keep up with him. The aging paddle steamers and ironclads were working overtime to just keep pace with the _Nemesis_.

As the day reached 4:00 PM, the docks of Skywatch came into view. There, Young saw his prize. Hundreds of wooden vessels, most of them docked. Foolish in believing the Commonwealth would not come for them.

"Full steam. Relay orders to form around me as we discussed," Young ordered to his bridge officers.

Down in the radio room, the radiographers relayed the orders to all radio equipped ships. On the upper decks of the _Nemesis_ , men used semaphore flags to relay the orders. Young hated the navy's feet dragging bureaucracy. It was their fault he was having men waving flags around to begin with. The admiralty seemed to refuse the idea of equipping every ship with radios. The older steamers in his task force lacked even electric telegram systems, considered archaic by the rest of the navy.

Their orders were to form up in a slightly curved semi-circle, with their guns facing starboard and the _Nemesis_ at the center as it was the lead vessel of the task force and the most equipped. The squat ironclad would be in front of the steamers, as the guns of the steamers would arch over them.

Despite the communications issues, the ships found their positions exactly as discussed in only five minutes or so. Young was sure to buy each captain a drink when they got back home.

Young peered through his binoculars at the docked Dominion ships. He could almost sense the terror of the elven sailors as they scrambled to unload their rigging. The Commonwealth ships blocked off any exit from the harbor, so the Altmer had two options: abandon their ships and run for the hills, or stand and fight.

It seemed most went for the latter. So typical of the Altmer.

Young had 30 ships in his task force. There were over a hundred ships sailing out to meet him several minutes later.

"Alright. Let's begin this," Young said calmly.

He pushed a button on his personal intercom.

"Gunnery deck- fire at will."

Below him, the gunnery officers checked their charts and peered out with their brass instruments at the city before them. Within minutes, the first volley from the ship's main guns exploded out. From the bridge, Young felt the explosion in his chest and his ears rung, dulling out every other noise.

The shells impacted with a marble tower overlooking the harbor. The ancient structure leaned, then crumbled down into the water below.

With the _Nemesis_ attacking, the other ships took this as the signal to fire at will.

And fire they did. Shells impacted on the marble and glass towers of the port city. Castles, palaces, and monuments were leveled and sent tumbling into the sea.

Then, the sailing vessels of the Altmer were targeted.

The _Nemesis's_ first kills came when a shell ripped through one vessel before exploding in the sea, capsizing two more vessels with its wake.

Despite the tide of explosives flying in their direction, the Altmer ships sailed onward. Once they closed in range, they opened up with bows and ballista- the only weapons they possessed. Some Altmer used destruction magic to hurl fire and lightning at the ships. But, most of their weapons glanced off the iron and steel hulls of the Commonwealth ships.

An Altmer galley sailed alongside the _Nemesis_ , its crew members firing arrows at the crew on the _Nemesis's_ deck. A crew member responded by swiveling a Reciprocator in their direction and cutting them down.

As the elves began to bear down on the Commonwealth in full force, Young relayed more orders.

"Tell the fleet to break and engage at will. Do not let _any_ of them escape," Young called to his radio deck.

The helmsman pushed the _Nemesis_ into full steam. He swung the wheel around suddenly, causing the ship to lean heavily and most of the bridge crew to scramble to grab something solid. When they recovered, they looked down just in time to see the _Nemesis's_ steel bow bisect a wooden elven ship like it was made of matchsticks.

The main guns rotated forward and unleashed a shell on a large galleon, which impacted on its port side and smashed through several decks below the water line, causing the ship to sink in under a minute.

The only real threat at this point to any Commonwealth ship was boarding by Altmer sailors. Anyone that tried to do so, however, was quickly eliminated by Commonwealth marines.

Ships that sailed too close to the _Nemesis_ were typically peppered by Reciprocator bullets, cutting crew members to pieces and splintering their wood hulls. Several smaller vessels were sunk this way. Larger ships were subject to fire bombs tossed by marines as well as conventional hand grenades.

Young felt pride in his ship and his crew. This was its first real-world experience. Against so many enemies with so much happening at one time, Young expected some misstep, some accident to befall him and his crew.

But everyone and everything performed admirably.

Young sent a silent prayer to the Engineer. If the Engineer was present in every machine, then the _Nemesis_ must have been his right hand.

He smiled softly and patted the metal console in front of him.

Young ordered the helmsman to change course and sent the _Nemesis_ down towards the docks, where several ships were still docked.

"Tell the gunnery crews to destroy the remaining docked vessels. I don't want anyone escaping," he ordered.

A shell shattered a wooden pier where several smaller vessels were docked. As parts of the ruined pier sank, the docked ships were partially dragged down with it.

The _Nemesis_ opened fire again, causing a massive galleon to explode into splinters of wood and break into two, sinking in its berth. Another ship joined them, the ironclad _Daybreak_. Instead of cannons or machine guns, the _Daybreak_ had a large flame siphon affixed to its bow.

The ironclad demonstrated the potency of its armament by launching a jet of flame over 100 feet out, drowning an entire row of docked vessels in fire. The vessel repositioned itself and launched more fire at the dockside buildings- old, wooden framed structures that went up in an instant.

With the _Nemesis_ and _Daybreak_ in tandem, every remaining ship in the bay was destroyed and the entire waterfront set ablaze. Back on the water, the Commonwealth task force had destroyed three-fourths of the Dominion ships and only had to spend time making sure the survivors were destroyed before they could escape.

The only Commonwealth casualty was the aging paddle steamer _Culleron_ , which was hit by one too many destruction spells and had caught fire. The crew jumped overboard and was rescued by the ironclad _Emperyn_ , with only three of their fellows dying in the attack. The _Culleron_ was locked into full steam and sailed into the center of several enemy vessels before its ammunition stores ignited and destroyed five Dominion vessels in a brilliant explosion.

Young had the _Nemesis_ swing around to the head of the bay and helped destroy the remaining three Dominion vessels. The wood ships sunk below the waves, burning and shattered. The Altmer crews floundered in the cold water for a few minutes before being ruthlessly perforated by Reciprocators.

As quick as it had begun, the only major naval engagement of the war was over. The Dominion's naval power was shattered, their safest port ruined. Over a thousand Altmer were killed, with the Commonwealth suffering three dead and twenty-five wounded.

Young watched the burning mast of a galleon slip beneath the inky sea. He slowly picked up the handset of his radio as he relished the destruction. He could see the dead bodies of the Altmer sailors bobbing on the rough seas. Blood leaked from the grievous wounds torn by bullets and shrapnel. The scarlet fluid fixed with water, tinting the black waves with red.

Finally, he bought the handset to his face. "All ships, regroup into formation and begin marine landing procedures. Nice work out there."

Young exited the bridge and proceeded out to the observation deck. He looked out, taking in the beautiful sight of his ships working, their engines churning and belching out steam and smoke. He watched the marines pile into their landing crafts and race off for the city.

He closed his eyes for just a moment, taking in the feel of the wind on his face, the smell of smoke and ash and burning cinders.

The Navy at work. It was a beautiful thing.

 _Dracka_

 _1:00 AM_

"I still can't believe that navy girl got kicked out," Mira said to Adrian as they walked down the street to her house. The ball was over and Adrian was walking her home since she lived relatively close to Sentinel Hall.

Adrian had survived his first ball. It really was not that bad of an experience and he would certainly do it next year. He talked politics and got the latest news from the Commonwealth, Summerset, and beyond. Mira and Adrian both stuffed themselves with fine food and drowned that down with plenty of wine. Mira had had one too many glasses and now she walked by his side with rosy cheeks and an inebriated smile across her face.

She half walked, half skipped down the quiet block. It was late and the pair were the only people walking down the street. She paused to look up at the streetlights illuminating their path before continuing.

Mira was recounting the story of a naval officer who also indulged a bit too much in the wine and got into a shouting match with her husband in full view of everyone before getting escorted out.

"Aren't you glad we didn't argue?" she asked as she skipped-walked along.

"And why would we?" he responded.

"Eh, I can be a bitch sometimes."

She slowed her pace and undid her braid and bun. Her hair slipped down her shoulders as she tussled it.

"I had fun tonight, Adrian," she said softly.

"Yeah? I'm glad," he replied.

"Yeah! I'm happy you invited me."

She looked thoughtful. "Why did you?"

"Why did I what?"

"Invite me? I'm sure there were other nice ladies you could've taken."

He was silent for a few seconds, enough for her to smile slyly at him.

"If I must be honest, first sergeant, you were the first person that came to mind."

"Oh, I'm 'first sergeant' again?" she said with a laugh.

Adrian could not help but laugh too.

"Well, I'm glad you thought of me, _lieutenant colonel_."

He smiled. "It's my pleasure."

Mira stopped and motioned to a humble brick townhouse, a simple three story building that matched almost every other structure on the block. Mira's family presumably shared it with two other families. All the windows were darkened and all residents were fast asleep.

"Well, this is my stop," she said.

Adrian walked with her up the brick steps to the front door. She opened her mailbox and retrieved a key that was hidden there.

"I'll make sure to send someone from the hotel to bring your bags here," Adrian said.

Mira nodded. "Thank you. I'm glad we didn't go back. I'm exhausted."

She opened her door, but turned to face him one last time.

"Well, I'll see you in a few months. Enjoy Skyrim. You should bring a camera and take lots of pictures."

"Yeah, maybe I will," he said with a nod.

"Are you coming back to Dracka? When you need to redeploy?" she asked.

Adrian nodded. "That's the plan."

"Well, maybe you should come and see me. We could go out and get some real dinner before deployment," she suggested.

"Only if you want," she added hastily.

He smiled. "I think I'd like that. I'll see if I can."

Mira smiled back. "Okay."

She let go of the door and put her arms around him in a tight hug.

Adrian's heart leapt. But, he returned it.

She let go of him. "Be safe, we still need you down in Summerset."

"Trust me, I have no intentions of living through the invasion of the Dominion just to get murdered by some bandits in Skyrim."

She laughed. "I trust you, sir."

Mira ducked inside her house. "Goodnight, Adrian."

Adrian walked down the steps and back onto the sidewalk.

"Goodnight, Mira."

He walked down, hands in his coat pockets. The door only closed when he was far down the street.

 _Solitude_

 _9:00 PM_

Two Solitude city guards stood around the brazier, warming their hands. They were the only two on duty by the front gate to the city and tonight was especially cold. The flame in the brazier threw off a minute amount of light around them. Above, black clouds covered Masser and Secunda, blocking any luminescence the twin moons would have given off.

One of them rubbed his hands together and turned to his partner.

"You see those oil men from Rynn? They've got their fire spears with 'em."

He was referring to the two men from the Rynn Commonwealth who had entered the city earlier that day. Their business was with the Jarl, to discuss the ceding of land in the hold to the Commonwealth for oil drilling.

"Oil? What kind of oil? Vegetable oil?" his partner asked.

The guard sighed. "No, you really should spend more time reading. There's oil in the ground, you know. It can be extracted and used."

"Used for what then, smart ass?" his partner said.

He shrugged. "Beats me. All I know is that the Rynn are paying a good sum for a few parcels of land."

His partner bent down to grab some more wood for the fire. "They can do whatever they want with their oil. Maybe I'll get a raise out of this."

 _Over Whiterun Hold, Province of Skyrim_

 _10:00 AM, the next day_

Adrian looked out the window of the small airship that he had been on for two days.

Finally, he was in Skyrim. He was home.

Far below the airship, Adrian could see the frosty ground, with the cobblestone roads snaking around tiny settlements. How he had missed the landscape, no matter how cold and unforgiving it got. His last visit home was over ten years ago. But still, it looked as if nothing had changed.

And why would anything change? Skyrim was a land of ancient things. Things that have stood for centuries and would certainly persist for centuries more.

But, the airship began its descent to their final destination. A place that looked like it was from another dimension.

The Commonwealth Embassy. A three story building of concrete, brick, and iron, with a Commonwealth flag flying proudly on its flagpole in front of the building. It stood out against nearly every other structure in Skyrim. It was probably the only place in Skyrim with running water as well.

Outside, a wind turbine caught the ever present wind and spun to power the facility. Near that, an oil derrick pumped up oil that was used to heat the building. Adrian saw a guard standing in a watch tower, holding his rifle close to his chest and looking very unhappy to be outside.

There was no docking spire for airships, so the airship touched down in a flat patch of land outside of building and was anchored into place.

This ship was carrying supplies for the embassy, mostly food and drink. Only five other passengers were with Adrian. Three guards that would be replacing three other men going on leave, a new secretary, and an oil prospector.

When the ship touched down, Adrian gathered his things. His only luggage was his knapsack that contained clothes and other essentials. He of course bought his winter coat and sword but had also went and bought two new firearms. One of them was a .30-30 caliber lever action rifle and a new .380 caliber semi automatic pistol. This new model was an upgrade from his old .45, boasting a twelve round magazine and much improved mechanics.

Adrian put Dragonbane onto its place on his belt and attached his leather pistol holster right by his hip. On his back, he threw his new rifle into the large leather scabbard strapped to his back, barrel pointed diagonally to the ground.

Adrian followed behind two crew members pushing a cargo trolley loaded with food down the exit ramp. He took a deep breath, feeling the crisp, clean air of Skyrim in his lungs as he exited. Adrian's boots made contact with the hard packed earth, covered by a thin layer of frost.

He took a moment to take in his surroundings. It was a feeling he could not describe. A feeling of euphoria, the kind one has when something that was lost to them returns.

Adrian smiled faintly as he shouldered his pack and made his way into the building itself.

Inside, it was warm and comfortable, unlike most large buildings in Skyrim at this time of year. Heat was distributed through radiators, which were present in every room. The lobby had a grand fireplace with a roaring fire as well. In front of the fireplace, a man and a woman sat in armchairs, drinking coffee and looking into the fire. Near them, a man was sitting on a couch, reading a book.

Besides them, there were very few others present in the building. Most of them were staff. A few armed guards milled around the lower and upper floors, and administrative staff and their secretaries walked from room to room, delivering papers and messages.

"Mr. Arnaldus!"

Adrian turned to see a man in his mid 50s walking towards him. The man wore a grey sweater vest that matched the color of his hair and a white button down shirt.

"Oh, uh, hello," Adrian replied.

The man stuck out his hand. "Gideon Zenic," he introduced himself. "I keep track of Commonwealth citizens who come into Skyrim."

Adrian shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. How'd you know I was coming?"

Zenic smiled. "Well, you're making some waves in the military lately, so news travels fast. Plus, you _are_ the only son of Skyrim with a high ranking position in the army, so we heard you're coming back."

He waved Adrian down the hall. "Come with me to my office, I just have some forms for you to fill out."

Adrian followed him down the hall to his office, a cluttered room with books and stacks of paper strewn on every available place. But, it was cozy in its own way.

Adrian sat across from Zenic as the man handed him a paper to fill out with his essential information.

"So, Mr. Arnaldus, how long are you planning to be in Skyrim?" he asked.

"Two weeks. I need to be back in Summerset by the 15th of next month."

"I see. Should be enough time to see the sights."

Zenic scribbled something on the paper before him.

"And may I ask, what brings you back to Skyrim?"

"I'm on leave. Coming back to visit my parents," he replied as he put down his pen.

"Oh really? That's wonderful! When was the last time you saw them?"

Adrian rubbed his chin. His stubble was beginning to come back.

"About ten years ago," he replied.

Zenic nodded as he flipped over the piece of paper Adrian handed him and began to write some things down on it. "Well, it's a long time coming then. I'm sure they'll be happy to see you again."

Adrian nodded. "Yeah, I hope."

"I wouldn't worry, Mr. Arnaldus. You're a hero. Fighting for humanity against the elven cancer. Putting everything on the line, for all of us. Your parents would be proud of you."

Adrian leaned back in his seat, and gazed at the ceiling. He nodded thoughtfully. "I hope you're right, Mr. Zenic."

Zenic seemed to give up pressing the thought. He smiled and handed Adrian his paperwork, signed and sealed.

"Alright, Mr. Arnaldus, here's your paperwork. This is just for record keeping mostly. Also, if you're not back at the embassy three days after your date of planned departure, we'll start looking for you."

Adrian chuckled. "You'll send out the entire garrison of this place for one man?"

"Well, if I must be perfectly honest, not too many come to Skyrim for personal reasons. We've got maybe a few dozen oil and coal workers here right now- that's it. So it won't be a hassle sending out some of our people to find a Commonwealth war hero."

"You flatter me, Mr. Zenic," Adrian said as he took his paperwork.

The man laughed. "All in a day's work. We have carriages that run to all the hold capitals. There's a cafeteria if you need a drink or a bite to eat. Oh, and you can rest in one of our bunkrooms too, of course."

Adrian nodded. "I appreciate the hospitality. But, I think I'll head out right this minute."

* * *

The carriage driver dropped him off just a few yards from the entrance to Solitude. Adrian thanked the man and jumped off the back, his feet crunching in the lingering snow and frost. He sighed and stood where he was for a moment, slowly panning around to take in the sights. The carriage was driving away down the path. It was just him for the moment.

Adrian adjusted the strap of his rifle and put one foot in front of the other, listening to the wind whistle overhead and the sound of his boots in the frost.

At the gate, there stood a lone guard, who regarded Adrian with a curt nod and, undoubtedly, suspicious eyes behind his helmet.

"What do you need, Rynn?" he asked Adrian as he came into earshot.

"I'm here to visit the city," he replied quietly.

"Yeah? Well, what's your business then?" the guard snapped.

Adrian felt a twang of anger within him. He pursed his lips.

"I was born here. I'm visiting my ma and dad."

The guard was silent for a moment.

"Wait…" he drawled in his thick Nord accent. "You're the Arnaldus boy, aren't you?"

Adrian nodded. "That's right."

The guard's entire demeanor became more outgoing. "Aye, nice to see a son of Skyrim coming back home."

"Yes. It's good to be home," he replied.

"Alright well, you can head right in," the guard said while motioning to the open gates.

Adrian did not waste a moment and walked ahead, not looking back.

"I will admit, I'm glad you and your countrymen are giving the damned elves what they deserve!" the guard called as Adrian walked into the city.

Adrian did not turn around, but waved back with his free hand. "No problem," he called back.

The streets of Solitude were alive with visitors, residents, and merchants all going about their day. At the marketplace, vendors and shopkeepers hawked their products while a large crowd of residents shopped and bartered. Children played tag and hide-and-seek, just as Adrian and Naomi did a lifetime ago.

As he moved down the familiar streets, past shops and buildings that had not changed from childhood, Adrian could feel eyes upon him. The eyes of everyone as they stopped to look at the foreign man with strange dress and a strange weapon strapped to his back. At first, he thought no one recognized him. But then he realized that he was indeed the son of one of Solitude's most famous residents and his departure for the Commonwealth years ago was big news.

They parted the way for him, most pausing to glance at him before moving along. No one stopped to engage him. He just made his way down the cobblestone street, down the row of tall manor houses to find the one he knew best.

Adrian found himself standing in front of Proudspire Manor. The home he was born and raised in, where he slept every night in warmth and comfort. Where he and his sister played and, at times, fought. Where both of them were cared for and loved immensely by a mother and father who were, and still, truly in love with each other.

Despite all the happy thoughts drifting in his mind, Adrian was afraid. He was afraid to knock on the front door. He was afraid to see his parents and look them in the eye after being away in another land fighting another nation's war. He was their only child and he left them. He was putting himself in harm's way every single day in Summerset. While Adrian counted himself as lucky, he feared the day when his luck would run out, which would probably be accompanied by an arrow through his throat or a blade stuck between his ribs.

And if that happened- what would his parents do?

He stood there for a long while, just looking at the front door. At one point, he put his fist up to knock, but it lingered there, hovering over the door for a minute.

Adrian took a deep breath and rapped his fist on the door thrice.

* * *

Vincenzo Arnaldus set aside his glass of mead and put his feet up on the wood table before him. He stared into the fire for a moment before reaching over to grab a book from the table next to him. He settled on a recently published text about the cities of the Rynn Commonwealth. He did everything he could to learn about the Commonwealth, but they were a shadowy people and liked to keep secrets.

He heard Lydia ascend from the basement, no doubt carrying some ingredients for tonight's supper.

"Hey Lyds, what's for supper?" he called from the den.

"I was thinking potato soup," she replied from the kitchen.

"With ham?" Vin asked.

He heard Lydia laugh. "With ham," she confirmed.

Vin chuckled and settled back in his seat.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at his front door. He put his book down, but Lydia came from the kitchen.

"I got it," she said.

"No, no, I got it!" Vin retorted.

Lydia shot him the classic _just listen to me this time_ look she gave to him many times over the years. She walked over to the front door and pulled it open.

She was silent for several seconds. Vin looked up from his book again.

"Well, who is it? Dark Brotherhood finally coming to get me?"

She did not reply. Vin got up and walked over to her.

"Are you okay-" he began before he too froze.

Adrian stood there. His eyes were sharper, probably sharpened by conflict and bloodshed, but yet, they still retained the brilliant softness of his mother's eyes. His hair was longer than usual, but still carefully cut into a simple style. The shadow of a beard was visible on his jaw and cheeks, even though it was obvious he shaved recently.

His face wore a neutral, but vaguely anxious expression.

"Hi, ma. Hi dad," he said softly.

"Adrian…" Lydia said, her voice near a whisper.

Vin said nothing. Instead, a smile formed across his face. He let out a laugh he just could not contain.

"You're home," he beamed.


	12. Chapter 12: A Temporary Respite

_Alinor_

 _12:00 PM_

Lord Carene had sat down for his afternoon tea when his generals arrived.

Now, his now cold tea cup was shoved to the side as he leaned over the map of Summerset that was sprawled out on his desk.

And he was absolutely furious.

"I want you to explain something to me, general," he said to general Ulari as the man held his golden helmet under an arm and looked down to the ground.

"You have the finest Mer in Summerset under your command. Yet every single day, I get a new report of these Rynn dogs winning another battle and creeping ever so closer to Alinor. Why is this?" Carene rumbled.

Ulari looked up and breathed deeply. "My lord, you must understand what we are facing. These Rynn… they do not fight honorably. They hide behind barricades and wait for my warriors to advance. Then, they open up with their spears and strike down thousands in minutes. Their weapons are more powerful than the most powerful magic our mages employ."

Carene frowned. "I've read the reports. I know of their fire spears and the invisible bolts they shoot."

Ulari pursed his lips. "No, my lord. You may have heard of them, but you have not seen them in action."

The general did not wait for Carene to interrupt.

"Their weapons fire projectiles faster than any arrow or bolt. They can tear through metal and flesh and bone with ease. Our armor does nothing to protect against the Rynn projectiles. An arrow would just bounce off the cuirass, but these projectiles just punch through the metal with ease- and usually through the Mer wearing it and out the other end. Even if a soldier is wounded, they will most likely die due to the damage their weapons cause on their internal organs. And what we recover from the dead or wounded show that they are firing simple steel darts no bigger than an arrowhead! One of my commanders was leading his troops wearing a full Malachite armor, a custom made set that was one of the most beautiful armors I've ever seen. He was hit in the chest by several of these steel darts, which broke through his chest plate through sheer force. And the sound these weapons make is like a dragon's roar. I can hear their terrible weapons firing even a mile behind the frontlines."

Ulari stood up from his seat, now more animated.

"And do not get me started on the steel chariots the Rynn use. These behemoths move forward without the aid of any horse, belching out black smoke behind them. Spells, arrows, and bolts bounce off the hull of these machines and they fire at us with some infernal weapon that causes the ground to erupt and butcher my soldiers with shards of metal that mince their flesh and can sever limbs and shatter bone with ease.

Ulari pointed out Carene's window at the blue sky above.

"And we are not safe from the sky either! The Rynn call upon massive flying machines that they use to move their men and drop earthshaking weapons upon our heads."

"Are you done?" Carene growled.

Ulari took a deep breath and exhaled. "Yes, my lord. I apologize for that."

Carene nodded curtly. "What I care about is finding a way to stop them. We lost our home fleet and it will now be that much harder coordinating our counterattack and logistics."

Each general nodded, with each elf worried immensely. The loss of the fleet was the just latest in a series of bad news for the Dominion.

Carene did not show it, but he was troubled as well. His people were becoming concerned. Many were leaving Alinor to go to Cyrodiil or Skyrim. That was a show of how desperate this situation was becoming. Altmer would rather take their chances in _Skyrim_ than face the Commonwealth invaders.

And every day that passed meant the Rynn were one step closer to the capitol. Carene still did not know what to do if it came to that.

All that was left was to hope the gods were still on his side.

 _Outside of Solitude_

 _Skyrim_

 _2:00 PM_

The rifle barked as Vincenzo fired it. He shouted and almost dropped the gun as he jumped back several feet.

Lydia and Adrian laughed as he looked around and then looked down at the rifle in his hands.

His wife withdrew her hands from over her ears. "Nice work, I think you killed that tree."

Vin chuckled and handed Adrian the rifle. "I'm not sure how you use those things. They're so damn loud."

He rubbed his ringing right ear. "I think I'm deaf."

Adrian took the rifle and worked the lever, sending a smoking brass shell casing flying out of the ejection port and onto a patch of snow.

"You get used to it after a few weeks."

Vin rubbed his throbbing right shoulder, where he had braced the rifle's stock. "And the damn thing has some kick too…"

"Part of the experience," Adrian replied.

Lydia stood up from the stump she was sitting on.

"Let me try," she said as she motioned for Adrian to hand over the gun.

"Alright, ma. Don't shoot me or dad."

She smirked at him as she went to where Vin had stood a minute before and shouldered the rifle in a surprisingly good grip and stance.

"Am I good?" she asked Adrian.

"Uh… yeah, actually. Look through the two back posts and put the front post in-between them. Just squeeze the trigger when you're ready to fire. Don't pull it suddenly," he advised.

Vin tightly pressed his palms over his ears.

Lydia fired, bracing her body and controlling the recoil as the bullet shattered an empty mead bottle Adrian set up on a fallen log.

She raised her head up and pointed the rifle to the ground.

"Geez, ma, want to join the army?" Adrian asked with a laugh.

"She was always a natural with a bow," Vin commented as he stood up.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "You and I both know I hate using bows."

"Yeah, but when you do need to use them, you can do it well," Vin replied.

Adrian put the rifle back into its scabbard across his back and walked with his parents back to Solitude.

"I'll tell you, guns beat bows any day."

Vin rubbed his beard. "So, these… rifles… they fire a…?"

"Bullet," Adrian completed for him.

"Bullet. Can you reuse bullets, like an arrow?" Vin asked him.

Adrian shook his head. "Not usually."

"Doesn't seem very efficient to me," Lydia interjected.

"Yeah. What's the advantage then?" Vin said.

"Well, unlike the rest of Tamriel, we have factories, not blacksmiths making arrows and bolts by hand. I would estimate that in these times, there are hundreds of thousands of bullets being made every single day."

Vin and Lydia looked at each other. They could not comprehend so many things being made in such a short period of time.

"Is everything in the Commonwealth made like that?" Vin asked.

Adrian shrugged. "More or less. All of our guns and other weapons are mass produced. Most of them are completely identical. And my coat is probably just one of several thousand in existence," he explained as he pulled at his wool coat. That last part was true enough- Adrian bought his coat from a rack of about ten other identical garments.

"Yeah, well, I'll just stick with a bow like everyone else," Vin scoffed.

Adrian nodded thoughtfully. "So, dad, let me ask you. How long did it take for you to get to where you are with a bow?"

Vin laughed. "Gods, I've still got a ways to go I think."

"And you, ma?"

"Well, I started training back when I was 18 and still wouldn't say I'm the best archer in Skyrim. Better than your father, though," Lydia said with a sly smile.

Vin rolled his eyes at that.

"Right. Consider that and consider the fact that me and my fellow recruits became expert marksmen in about three weeks," Adrian said.

"That's all the training you had?" Vin asked incredulously. "And then they shipped you off?"

"Yep. Against the most powerful empire in Tamriel."

Adrian stuffed his hands in his coat pocket and looked out towards the city walls that were coming closer into view.

"And we aren't doing too shabby."

* * *

Jordis was away in Windhelm for the week visiting family, so for the first time in years, the Arnaldus was truly reunited.

They ate dinner together in the downstairs dining room, where they had shared many meals in the past. Vin and Lydia sat across from each other, with Adrian sitting on the side of the table. There was a conspicuously empty fourth seat across from Adrian, but the family was able to ignore it for the time being.

"So, there's this other unit- the 67th Infantry raised from the city of Yarghan, that one's really close to the border with Cyrodiil, made up of almost entirely of Nords from Skyrim. For the first few weeks of training, they refused to use their rifles. Wanted to be given swords or axes so they could get up close and personal with the elves," Adrian spoke between spoonfuls of soup.

Lydia laughed. "My people know what they want, I'll tell you that."

"So? Did they get their request?" Vin asked.

"Oh, no. Command would never had let that happen. No, what they do instead is make their own war axes out of scraps of metal and wood they salvage from wherever they are stationed and hope their commanding officer orders them to prepare for a melee engagement."

Lydia and Vin both smiled. In their travels years ago, they met many men and women of similar disposition.

"You know- I think you two should visit the Commonwealth some time. I can make sure you all get the premier treatment," Adrian offered.

"Hm, you know, I really wouldn't mind that," Vin said. Ever since Adrian left, he learned what he could about the Commonwealth and their way of life and swiftly became fascinated with the nation. To him, it was a place that was absolutely alien and unlike anything he had known before.

"It would certainly make the news," Adrian replied. "I can see it now: 'Dragonborn, savior of the world tours the Commonwealth.'"

Vin smiled. "You give me too much credit, Adrian."

"Oh, yes, you only killed what amounts to a god while simultaneously being the only mortal to travel to Sovngarde and back," Adrian pointed out.

"I had help," Vin said with a shrug.

"And don't forget, you couldn't have gotten there without me," Lydia added.

Vin smiled. "Of course, how can I forget that?"

His parents smiled at each other warmly, recounting the memories gone by. Adrian sat back in his seat, letting them have this moment.

They were old now, but they still retained that youthful, romantic ideal they had when love blossomed after their chance first meeting. Even though their days of adventure and excitement were over, they never tired of being with each other, even after all these years.

As he watched his parents generally enjoy each other, Adrian felt something inside of him. A kind of desire to have something as beautiful and long lasting as what his parents have.

At the same time, he felt a pang of sadness. Would be ever find something like this? Even after the war.

Either way, he had time to figure it out.

* * *

"So, your room is right how you left it. Hopefully you still fit in your bed," Vincenzo said as he helped Adrian move into his old bedroom, the one he shared with Naomi.

Adrian smiled. "I think I can manage."

He looked to Naomi's side. All her jewelry was still laid out. Several paintings adorned her side of the room and a stuffed bear sat next to her pillow, right where she left it on the last morning of her life.

Vincenzo could feel Adrian's gaze at Naomi's side and clapped his hands. "Well, that's it. I'll imagine you'll want to get changed. I'm sure Lydia would want to talk to you for hours about everything that's been happening."

He smiled and added "and I might have a few hours of questions, too."

Adrian laughed. "Make sure you write it all down, dad."

He paused before opening his pack. "Oh, I forgot. I got you and ma something."

Vin put out his hands. "Ah, come on. You didn't have to!"

"Couldn't come back from the Commonwealth without some souvenirs. Got ma a necklace and I got you this," Adrian said as he unfolded a dark brown, high collared leather jacket lined by white fleece and tossed it to Vin.

His father unfolded the jacket and tried it on. He looked over the even stitching and felt the smooth material with his hands. He then looked down at the brass buttons, which he pressed with his fingers in awe.

"Wow. This is… very nice," Vin said with a nod. "Pretty amazing design. Thanks, Adrian."

Vin was indeed fascinated. To him, just this jacket was something foreign and even alien compared to what he knew and saw every day. He could not begin to imagine everything _else_ in the Commonwealth.

"Right then. Let's not keep your ma waiting," Vin said as he patted Adrian on the shoulder.

* * *

Adrian spent his two weeks in Skyrim telling stories. First to his parents, which seemed to go on for several days. Then, Adrian took the time to travel to a few of the other cities and inevitably got a crowd gathered to listen to him talk about the Commonwealth when he retired to a tavern for the night. In a way, he was helping the war effort by spreading tales of the Commonwealth's greatness.

As if the Nords needed any persuasion in their support for the Commonwealth's war against the Altmer.

But, after his brief tour of Skyrim, Adrian returned home for the last two days.

And now, it was the last day before he set off. Back to Dracka and soon, back to war.

"What in the name of Oblivion is that thing?" Vincenzo asked Adrian as his son fiddled with the 35mm camera in his hands before setting it on a tripod.

Lydia and Vincenzo stood in front of their manor, on the front steps. The day was perfectly clear and the sun shone brightly above.

"That, dad, is a camera," he explained as he messed with the timer.

"And what does it do?" Lydia asked. She looked downright afraid of the device. Or concerned, at the very least, because Vin and Adrian both knew she was afraid of nothing.

"It takes your portrait. Like… a painting," he tried to analog.

"Oh gods, so I need to stand here for hours?" Vin asked.

Adrian laughed. "No, no, just for a few minutes. Just wait for it to flash. But try not to blink," he advised.

"That little box… takes our portrait?" Lydia said, bewildered.

"That's some kind of magic," she said in an astonished tone.

Adrian smiled. "No, ma, it's just science."

He turned a dial and nodded in approval. "Alright, that should be good."

Adrian jogged back to the steps where his parents stood and stood between them. He put both his arms around their shoulders.

"Okay, smile!" he advised.

It took his parents a few seconds, but they both smiled broadly. The camera flashed brightly once. As soon as it happened, Vin cried out and rubbed his eyes.

"Oh gods, what was that?" he gasped.

Lydia and Adrian laughed.

"Part of the process, dad," Adrian explained. He let go of his parents and jogged back down the steps.

"Okay, one more," Adrian said as he began to mess with the dials and buttons.

Vin continued to rub his eyes. "Not again."

* * *

Adrian was performing one last spot check to make sure he did not leave anything behind. Satisfied, he put his pack on his shoulders and turned to leave. As he went for the door, he stopped at Naomi's side of the room. Adrian stood in front of her dresser and a simple silver necklace caught his eye. It was one Vincenzo got her when she turned seven. For some reason, she loved the simple ornament and wore it almost every day- including the day she died.

Against his better judgment, Adrian took the necklace and briefly rubbed the circular pendant with his thumb. He pocketed the necklace and turned to leave.

* * *

After many long goodbyes and an equally long airship ride, Adrian was back in Dracka. After spending time in Skyrim, he felt out of place in the city of steel and glass.

It was his last day before his return to the Summerset Isles and Adrian found himself walking down a quiet avenue in early evening about to make another decision against his better judgment.

He stopped in front of Mira's building, where he had last seen her several weeks ago. She _did_ ask him to see her again. It's not like he was intruding.

The evening was threatening to be slightly cooler, so he dressed appropriately in a white button down shirt and grey waistcoat, with matching grey slacks. Maybe a bit too formal, but it was best to be prepared. He left the tie in his hotel room, at least.

Mira's family lived on the first floor, so he had very little time to think as he hesitantly rapped his fist on her door. He waited for ten seconds and turned to just leave when the door opened.

A man in his mid 50s, with a ruddy complexion and friendly eyes greeted him.

He smiled slowly.

"Good evening," he said. "Can I help you?"

Adrian bit his lip. "Um, yes, is uh, Mira home?"

He assumed the man was her father, who scratched his head of white hair at his question.

"Well, what do you need?" he asked.

Adrian felt like a moron for not introducing himself.

"Oh, um, my name is Adrian… Adrian Arnaldus. Mira's command officer?"

Her father laughed and extended his hand. Adrian shook it.

"Ah yes, the Adrian who took my daughter to the ball. Pleasure to finally meet you, sir. I'm Viktor and you may have deduced I'm her father by now"

Adrian smiled at him. _Doing good so far_ , he thought.

Viktor motioned to the inside of his home. "Yes, she's home. In her room I think-"

He was interrupted by the sound of feet rapidly running in from the next room.

Mira appeared from a hallway. She was already smiling.

"Adrian!" she cried.

Viktor chuckled. "Seems my girl has been expecting you."

He smirked at Adrian. "You can come in, you know."

Adrian smirked back, awkwardly. "Oh, yeah."

Mira jogged up to him and hugged him. "How was Skyrim?" she asked when she released him.

"Good, good," he confirmed.

"So, are we going out tonight?" she asked him.

Adrian nodded. "That's what I'm here for."

She smiled. "Great! Let me get ready- there's a nice restaurant I've been wanting to go to with you. It's not too far from here."

She turned and left Adrian with Viktor.

Viktor turned as well and headed into his living room.

"Ana, we have a guest!"

"What was that?" a woman's voice said.

"A. Guest," Viktor said, slowly and more loudly.

Viktor came back to Adrian, followed by a short, grey haired woman who looked at Adrian with a warm expression.

"That's my wife, Ana. She's… a little hard of hearing," Viktor explained.

Ana shook Adrian's hand.

"Hello, young man. Who may you be?" she asked.

Adrian leaned in close to her right ear. "My name is Adrian. I took your daughter to a ball a few weeks ago."

She smiled and nodded. "Oh, yes, Adrian! Mira told us a lot about you."

"Oh, really?" Adrian asked.

"Yes! She enjoyed the ball immensely and talks about you almost every day."

Adrian's heart leapt. "Oh… really?" he questioned.

Mira returned from her bedroom. She was now wearing a black skirt and stockings with a white blouse and black jacket. She did her hair in a simple ponytail.

"I'm ready, are you?" she asked Adrian eagerly.

He smiled. "Sure am," he said as he turned to Viktor.

"So, um, when would you like to see her back?" he asked.

"Whenever she wants, Adrian. She's an adult. And a soldier."

Mira strode forward and caught Adrian's arm.

"Come on, Adrian. We don't have all night."

* * *

The restaurant they dined at was much more high class than what Adrian was used to and he was pretty sure he used a month's wages paying for their meals.

Now, he found himself on the square roof of Mira's apartment building. It was late and night had long since fallen. The dark sky above had much fewer stars than the skies above Skyrim, due to the effects of Dracka's light pollution. Masser was obscured by smoke and clouds and Secunda was nowhere to be seen.

Mira had sat down near the edge of the building, legs outward, almost reaching over the edge. Adrian took a seat on the cement next to her.

"I come here to clear my mind. The stars are so beautiful," Mira said thoughtfully.

"You should see the skies in Skyrim," Adrian responded.

"I've heard about their beauty in books. Can you tell me about it? I've only seen pictures."

"Well, there are stars as far as the eye can see. Much more than what we can see here. And there's also auroras- these shimmering lights that wave across the sky. And you can also see a band across the sky, an outline of blue and white and purple with thousands of stars inlaid. People don't really know what it is, but in the Commonwealth, some scholars say it's the "galaxy."

"A galaxy? What's that?" she asked.

"Well, it's a theory about how our world and sun is but one of billions and billions of worlds and suns, all part of a great cosmic cluster, held together in unison by higher forces."

"Like… some kind of magic force?" she asked.

"Well, maybe. No one really knows." Adrian admitted.

She nodded, thoughtfully. "Ugh, I hate thinking too deeply about things. It's too early for that."

Adrian laughed. "I hear you, Mira."

"Well, regardless of whatever our world is a part of, I just like to think about the small scale, immediate things. You know?" she said.

"I can understand that. Was never too big on the big, existential questions too," Adrian replied.

"Yeah. I'm just thinking about the war. And what I'll do after it."

She turned to him. "And how glad I am to see you."

Adrian's stomach flipped up and down. "Oh… oh, really?" he said nervously.

She smiled. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I-uh- I don't know," Adrian said with a dry chuckle.

She laughed and smiled at him. She also drew herself closer to him.

"You sure know what to say, Adrian," she said slyly.

He looked down at the ground and smiled slightly. "So I have been told."

She looked back up at the stars above. "Well, even if these are not as great as what you have in Skyrim, I'm glad I'm here to see it with you."

Mira chuckled. "If I must be honest, I'm glad to see pretty much anything with you."

"Is that right?" he asked.

She chuckled again. "Do you always need confirmation with these kinds of things?"

"Can't say I've heard a lot of things like that," he said.

Mira looked at him incredulously. "Are you serious?" she asked.

Adrian nodded. "Believe it or not."

Suddenly, she placed her hand over his. "Well, I'm glad I'm here to say it."

She was incredibly close now. Adrian could see her eyes shining, her lips spread in a smile.

He did not know what to do.

"Mira…" he said, voice near a whisper.

She cupped his cheek.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he replied.

She smiled once and leaned in, delicately pressing her lips against his. Adrian felt weak at first, but he let the feeling of another's warmth spread over him. He returned her kiss with as much passion as he could muster at this time. She responded by kissing even deeper now.

It felt good.

He had not felt it in years.

Her kiss tasted like the wine she drank earlier that evening. Adrian felt intoxicated- he was not sure if it was the wine or just her presence.

They broke apart. Adrian's hand had found its way into her hair. He ran his hand up and down her shiny tresses.

"This is so wrong," he muttered.

Mira laughed. "But it feels so, _so_ right."

He smiled too. "Can't deny that."

* * *

The peace was over.

He was back.

No more family, no more idyllic love.

It was back to what he did best- fighting and killing.

Adrian step off the airship in full uniform, Dragonbane on his hip and his .380 Holt Fabricating Company pistol tucked in his shoulder holster.

He strode though the grounds of the Commonwealth staging area, which was alive with men and machines. He passed several men standing around the bed of a cargo motortruck, hauling off crates of newly manufactured rifles. Adrian made a mental note to examine them later that day.

A group of troopers were receiving hand grenades, as per the new infantry doctrine laid out for the final phases of the invasion of the Dominion. A pair of tanks rumbled down the road, with several troopers sidestepping out of their way. In a large tent, several golden machines were being assembled and attended too with a variety of complex tools. Automatons, fresh from the factory. Ready to be unleashed on the unsuspecting enemy.

Adrian strode down to where his men were set up and pushed his way into the command tent.

He looked around for Mira.

Mira…

He had not heard from her since their… encounter. On that night, he did not consider the consequences too much.

But now-

"Sir!" a voice called, interrupting his thoughts.

Mira walked across the space to him, rifle slung across her back and helmet under her arm. She smiled and nodded curtly at him.

"Good to see you back on the frontlines, sir. I hope your leave was good. I have some fresh dispatches you might want to see. Lots and lots of new developments. Exciting stuff."

Adrian took the papers and looked her in the eye. She smiled ever so slightly and cast a knowing glance back.

"Thank you, first sergeant."

With that, he went off to review the latest happenings across the Isles.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, we've gone a full two chapters with rather limited elf death. But fret not! The war and grimdark you all love is coming back in force. Hope you enjoyed. Until next time.**


	13. Chapter 13: The Road to Alinor, Part I

_Fort Wraithsword_

 _Outside of the town of Riverwatch_

 _11:00 AM_

Dominion warrior Eryon leaned against the battlements of the fortress wall, crossbow in one hand with the other hand gripping the cold stone. He did not have much familiarity with the crossbow, but now the Dominion was issuing them _en masse_ and weaponsmiths in every city were churning out as many units as they could to keep up with the Dominion's massive orders.

Crossbows were the only weapons that had even a slight chance of countering the terrible fire spears the Commonwealth soldiers used. Even then, it was only very marginally more effective than swords. The Dominion was being forced to change everything they knew about warfare just to keep up with the Commonwealth. Not even the Imperials fought like they did during the Great War. Not even the damnable Redguard raiders in Hammerfell fought with the savagery and brutality the men from Rynn did.

Eryon was no veteran. He was only a teenager when the Great War began. But he knew from his studies that this was not how war was fought.

Everyone knew that the soldiers who fought the battles would march out to meet each other and fight man to man or to Mer. It was vicious, yes, but civilized in its own way.

The Commonwealth did not meet the Mer who fought them. They sat and waited for them to advance. Then they just cut them down. Butchered them with their dreadful weapons, right where they stood.

When a battle was over, the general typically would let the losing army retreat. It was the honorable thing to do. The men of Rynn hunted down the retreating Altmer, pressed upon them like a hound to its quarry.

Maybe it was because the Altmer fought wars to bring their enemy to the negotiating table, to ensure that any bargain would work in their favor.

No, the Commonwealth was not looking to negotiate. There was nothing Eryon or his people could offer.

They wanted them all to die.

And now, here they were. Outside of his fortress, just outside of the range of the defender's bows. They had been sitting there for close to six hours now. The attacking force looked tiny, maybe a few dozen men. They just sat there, behind a low ridge on the side of the road, weapons trained on the fortress, but not firing.

Eryon hated it. The waiting was killing him. The Rynn were planning something, something terrible, no doubt.

The fort's commander had ordered his Mer to make ready and wait. Wait for whatever may happen.

Eryon glanced over the Commonwealth's lines, pausing to observe the trio of iron machines also waiting with the soldiers. The iron chariots that belched smoke and shot thunder- the nightmare of many warriors now.

Eryon felt a chill down his spine every time he saw one of them stir. For a while, they rumbled while remaining still. Occasional, the hexagonal top part with the long metal tube poking out of it would rotate, like a beast scanning the plains for prey. But now, the machines were silent and unmoving.

He encountered those machines in the past- a battle by the edge of a forest about three weeks earlier.

The Rynn came out of the forest paths, slamming into the fortified Altmer warriors with fury and hatred. They killed his fellow warriors with their fire spears and then with their short blades when they were close.

He ran. Many did. No one could blame them.

Then, the iron chariots came roaring out of the tree line, scything down the fleeing Altmer with impunity. The rapid metal throwers barked and the ground shaking main weapon caused the earth around him to explode. It was a miracle he did not die that day. At times, the machines would just run over the fleeing warriors and crush them under their massive bulk. It was not like it was hard- the iron chariots could move much faster than a warrior even at full sprint.

Eryon could still hear their screams as his fellow warriors were ground to dust and paste by the war machines.

Now, here they were. Just waiting, waiting, waiting.

He sighed heavily and got down from the battlements. Eryon leaned against the wall and held his crossbow tight against his chest.

 _Just come, Rynn. End it already_ , he thought.

"Incoming!" someone shouted.

He looked up. Above him streaked a pair of metal canisters that contained whatever tech-magic the Commonwealth used to make the ground violently erupt. He knew that those canisters also spread iron fragments that appeared small and harmless, but at high velocity could easily punch through armor and flesh.

Eryon got down on his knees and hugged the ground as he shielded his head with his free arm.

He prayed to the gods that if a canister was to explode near him, let it kill him instantly. He did not want to be sprayed with iron fragments, to have his flesh torn, bones shattered, and organs minced. Those who suffered that fate rarely lived through their wounds. They died in agony, clutching stumps where limbs once were or trying to hold in their blood and internals.

The canisters landed in the main yard of the fortress with a dull _thud_. There was no violent explosion, no feeling of heat or being mutilated by shards of metal. Eryon got up and saw that the canisters were sitting upright in the dirt. His fellow warriors all got up and looked at the canisters sitting before them. Some approached, puzzled, but also too afraid to touch the canisters.

Suddenly, the sides opened and small tubes poked out. There was a hissing noise and a yellowish-green gas cloud emerged and quickly began to spread.

Those close stepped away from the miasma, but it was fast. Eryon smelled a very sharp, irritating odor. The cloud of vapor overtook several onlookers, who began coughing and rubbing their eyes. At this sight, several warriors ran into the fortress keep.

Eryon was backed against a wall when the miasma overtook him. Immediately, his eyes began to burn and water, with his nostrils stinging and beginning to feel like they were closing up. Then, it was like someone had suddenly grabbed his throat and began to choke him. He hacked and gripped his throat. It was becoming almost impossible to breath. At the same time, he was overcome by a splitting headache. The overwhelming smell and stinging pain all over his face forced him to his knees.

His vision was blurry. He could not breath. Every time he tried to draw breath, his airway just seemed to close more.

After a few minutes, he dropped to the ground, choking and writhing. Eryon became still a minute later, dead of asphyxiation. Such was the story for everyone around him. Choke-gas had claimed its first victims.

Trooper Davor Danning advanced towards the fort with the rest of his fellow troopers. It was almost 15 minutes after their mortars fired off the first few shells loaded with choke-gas. Sure, they could have taken the fort easily, especially with armor support, but command needed a field test of their poisons gas.

As far as he could tell, it was worked marvelously. No one stood to fire upon them or even cry out at their approach. The cloud of toxic vapor still lingered, so the troopers had pulled their newly issued respirator masks over themselves. Danning hated wearing it already. The heavy leather and cloth mask covered his whole face and was tight and stifling. He could hardly breathe through the metal filter filled with cotton and charcoal. Danning especially did not like the limited field of view he was offered by the round, glass portholes. His commander had assured him that wandering into the gas unprotected would be a much, much worse experience than wearing his mask.

They waited as a tank less than gracefully battered down the heavy wooden gate to the fortress before backing off and letting the infantry inside.

Inside the fortress was a charnel house. Dozens of dead elves, all laying on the ground with their hands wrapped around their throats in a vain attempt to catch breath. A few troopers opened up the doors to the keep and found multiple elves inside in a similar state. The gas had seeped in from underneath the doorframe and permeated the interior as well.

Danning and an officer broke off from the group and went down to the barracks area. They stepped over an elf who had fallen on the staircase and had expired the moment they reached him.

Down in the barracks, the two troopers found an elf who was still alive, but very near death. He was gripping his neck and kicking his legs pathetically.

The elf looked at the two troopers with fear in his eyes. He could not form words through chokes, but he was attempting to beg for a more swift death.

The officer seemed to sense this and drew his pistol. The dying elf received a bullet through the forehead.

Danning almost felt bad for the elves.

Almost.

 _Outside of the town of Ebonburg_

 _2:34 PM_

"200 meters and closing, sir," driver George "Novo" Durnovo said to commander Oswald Fallon of the FT-A1 tank _Steel Crusader_.

Fallon wiped grease off his hands onto the side of his dirty khaki field jacket.

"Right then, standard procedure. Advance and fire, break defenses, run down survivors," he said, as if his crew needed reminding.

"Alvar, how's our sight picture looking?" he asked his gunner, Nord and Skyrim native Alvar Night-Flame.

The man's shaggy blonde head nodded in approval. "Aye sir, looking good," he intoned in his thick accent.

"Feeder is good too, sir," Alan Larr, Alvar's loader, commented.

Fallon picked up the handset of his radio and pressed it to his ear.

"All units, report in," he ordered.

"Scourge of Mer _here, all good._ "

" _This is the_ War Hound, _we're ready_."

"Spirit of 131 _ready and waiting_."

" _The_ Decimator _is ready to bring it to 'em!_ "

"3rd Squad ready to attack, sir," Fallon reported to Commander Martin Vack, the leader of the 32rd Mechanized Legion.

Vack had 15 tanks under his command today, each divided up into three squads of five tanks each. Fallon was in charge of the 3rd Squad.

Really, 15 tanks was overkill for what was needed. Two or three would suffice.

" _Roger, 3rd Squad. Just keep in formation behind me,_ " Vack replied.

 _Too much is never enough_ , Fallon thought as he peaked through the periscope in front of him.

The elves had constructed earthwork fortifications and some light cover out of crates and wood. He focused in on several ballistae set up behind cover.

He smirked. _They're making it too easy_.

Fallon moved his scope over and caught the sight of Vack's larger Md. 226 "Harbinger" tank. Supposedly, he had managed to acquire the second of the six Harbinger tanks that had been produced thus far.

Compared to the FT-A1, the Harbinger was a giant. It was almost as wide as two FTs put together, but still faster thanks to a larger engine. It was also equipped with a much larger gun. Many questioned the purpose of such a tank, since it was not like the enemy had any armor to field against it.

But again, _too much is never enough_.

Fallon peered through his periscope again. They were close to the elven defenders, very close.

 _Give me the order already_ , he mentally told Vack.

Right on cue, Vack radioed.

" _Squads- engage at will!"_

Fallon grabbed his own handset and spoke to his tanks.

"Alright, let's do this! Pick your own targets and have fun!"

Fallon could hear the other tanks firing already. The dull thumps of their guns added to the numerous vibrations and noises within his own tank.

"Got a target, Alvar?" he asked his gunner.

"Four targets behind some cover," he replied.

"Take 'em out," Fallon commanded.

Larr pressed in a fresh 37mm "scattershot" shell, an insidious type of munitions loaded with a standard explosive charge along with hundreds of ball bearings, about the size of a buckshot shotgun pellet. A moment later, Alvar sighted up his target and sent the shell down range.

The shot impacted the elven fortifications straight on and exploded against some dirt fortifications.

Two elves who were close to the impact zone were vaporized by the blast. Pink and red particles coated their two comrades, who then felt hundreds of tiny steel pellets perforate their bodies. They did not die immediately, but were certainly down for the count.

Larr loaded up another round, which was sent at a ballista set up behind a stone wall. The wooden weapon was able to fire off a single bolt that harmlessly impacted the grass far from the _Steel Crusader_. The tank's round hit its mark, annihilating the weapon and its crew.

A second later, Fallon was rocked in his seat by a large impact against his vehicle.

His crew grumbled loudly.

"What in Oblivion was that?" Alvar said.

"Probably magic. Destruction spells," Fallon reasoned. "Only thing out here with that sort of impact."

He peered into his periscope again and scanned the battlefield.

Fallon spotted a group of Altmer huddled in a trench near the side of the road. A few mages were among them, hurling fireballs from their fingertips.

"Found 'em. Novo, swing us around about twenty five degrees left."

"Got it," he replied as he pulled the tank towards the enemy.

"Alvar, see them?" Fallon asked.

"Aye. I'll take care of them."

Alvar let go of his own sight and gripped his coaxial weapon. Most tanks mounted a standard .303 Reciprocator for handling infantry without expending ammunition for the main gun. However, the _Steel Crusader_ mounted a flame siphon for the gunner's use. A personal modification the crew did, the result of Fallon winning the surplus siphon from an infantry regiment's quartermaster after a card game.

A gout of flame was released from the weapon port as Alvar depressed the lever controlling the firing mechanism. Fallon observed through his periscope as the flame washed over the trench, immolating the Altmer cowering there. Fallon could see them writhe and flail around as the flames reduced them to charred bone and melted armor.

The tank shook as another fireball spell impacted the side armor. Durnovo arched around and Alvar engaged another group of battle mages. As soon as he sent a shell to them, more cropped up, seemingly out of nowhere, and began to assault the tank.

"Shit!" Fallon rumbled. "Get us out of here! Or thin them out, something!"

Alvar was sending shells down range as fast as Laar pushed them into place. Durnovo engaged the gas and went straight away down the cobblestone road.

As Fallon examined the situation with his scope, he briefly saw a flash of light and sparks engulf his view. At the same time, a tremendous force bucked the tank with such might it partially lifted up on its left side.

Durnovo furiously pumped the gas and throttle, but to no avail. He cursed loudly.

"Sir, we've lost traction on our left threads. I think we've lost a section of track or something."

Fallon grimaced. They were dead in the water, surrounded by enemy.

"Okay, okay. Everyone, we need to bail. Get your kits together."

Each man withdrew their standard issue .38 caliber revolver sidearms. Alvar also drew his Nordic dagger, a beautiful short blade with a carved scrimshaw handle. Durnovo also retrieved a short wooden club from under his seat, one that resembled a common police officer's truncheon, but was made less non-lethal with the addition of several squares of iron embedded in the top of the club.

Fallon reached under his own seat and picked up a 12 gauge double barreled shotgun with a sawed off stock and barrels. He broke open the action and stuck in a pair of brass shot shells retrieved from the half full cardboard carton next to the gun.

Someone was pounding against the entrance hatch above Fallon. The Altmer warriors, no doubt.

Fallon looked around his tank at his crew tightly gripping their weapons.

"We ready?"

They nodded.

Fallon unlocked the hatch and shouldered it open with enough force to knock whoever was trying to open it up off balance.

He was the first through. An Altmer warrior looked up at him in surprise before Fallon removed most of his head with a blast from his shotgun. He stepped out and then unloaded the second barrel onto the warrior who had fallen off his tank and onto the ground.

Fallon hurriedly reloaded as the rest of his crew emerged. They began firing on the surrounding Altmer, beating them back for a moment. A warrior neared Alvar before the Nord batted him in the face with his revolver and then plunged his carved dagger into his throat. Durnovo followed suit and used his club to dislocate the jaw of a challenger before slamming it down onto the warrior's head as he fell.

"Let's move!" Fallon shouted as he unloaded both barrels once more.

The crew used the window they created to run away from their disabled tank, hoping to come across a friendly vehicle. Fallon turned to see several warriors hot on their trail, swords ready.

He faced forward to see the Harbinger tank rumbling towards their position.

"Hit the dirt!" he ordered his crew. He did so first and they quickly complied.

As soon as they did, the Harbinger opened fire with its Reciprocator, taking down and dispersing the remaining elves.

Fallon and his crew stood up as the tank came to a halt next to them.

The command hatch opened and Commander Vack himself emerged.

"Lieutenant Fallon! Mechanical trouble?" he asked with a smile.

Fallon smirked sheepishly, embarrassed almost.

"Damn elves got me, sir. Nothing major, though. I don't think."

His commander smiled again. "Don't feel bad, lieutenant. Battle was done anyway! Barely spent fifteen minutes chasing down these bastards."

Vack strode back to his tank. "I'll radio a mechanic crew. I'm sure we'll just need a field repair to bring her back to full potential."

Fallon thanked him and turned on his heels. He observed the battlefield. Another quick and bloody battle. Such was tank combat against a foe that used swords and bows.

Alinor better put up a better fight.

 _Imperial City, Cyrodiil_

 _4:00 PM_

Emperor Cato Mede, tenth emperor of the Mede Dynasty of the Tamrielic Empire, sat in his study, patiently awaiting his four o'clock meeting with the ambassadors of the Rynn Commonwealth.

Dominions and Commonwealths. Commonwealths and Dominions.

So much to think about. So much to negotiate, compromise, and push through.

Cato was young, 32 to be exact. He took the throne after emperor Titus Mede II passed away of natural causes five years ago. Cato's father was supposed to take the throne, but assassins got to him first.

So here he was, a young, idealistic man charged with holding an entire empire together.

Not just any empire, _the_ Empire. The greatest power Tamriel has ever known, despite what the Dominion may say.

Well, maybe the greatest now. Cato was starting to believe that the Rynn Commonwealth would come to take that title in time.

The Commonwealth's war was a fortuitous occurrence for the Empire. The Aldmeri Dominion and their endless schemes were the Empire's greatest fears. But now, the Commonwealth had come and used their steel machines and unknowable technomancy to begin to force the Dominion into defeat.

It took a lot of pressure off him, that's for sure. All he did now was sit back and watch Alinor sweat it out, along with pretending to care about what the Dominion's requests were.

 _Treaty this._

 _Concordat that_.

All Cato had to do was pretend to honor the requests. The Dominion was too busy fighting their loosing war to see that Cato was not being as helpful as he claimed. They were too prideful to ask directly for help from the Imperial Legion, of course.

 _Damn the Dominion. Damn the Altmer. I will laugh while Alinor burns_ , he thought.

"Sire, the men from Rynn are here," an aide spoke to him.

Cato nodded. "Send them in, please."

The two Commonwealth ambassadors arrived, escorted by a pair of watchful Penitus Oculatus bodyguards. Cato liked the Commonwealth men. They also dressed sharply in light, tasteful three piece suits, not garish gilded robes the other nobles who visited him liked to wear.

They were always respectful and willing to compromise and listen. They were more than happy to receive the tiny parcels of land in Skyrim to drill for oil, whatever kind of oil that was.

"Welcome, welcome. Take a seat, please," he said to the men with a wave.

The ambassadors smiled at him and took their seats.

"What would you like to discuss today?" he asked them.

One of the men produced several folded pieces of paper from an inner jacket pocket. Cato was always amazed by Commonwealth paper. It was always smooth and pure white. How did they do it?

"Your highness, that note outlines the details of our request. Essentially, we would like to expand our operations in Skyrim and begin prospecting for more oil, along with opening several Commonwealth operated mines staffed with local miners to mine for various ores."

Cato absentmindedly thumbed through the pages, mostly feeling the paper rather than reading it.

"I see," he said. "How much land will you be wanting?" he asked.

"We estimate a total of five new sites, at least sixty acres each," one of them said.

Cato nodded. Skyrim had plenty of land, that would not be a problem.

"We will also be willing to trade a piece of technology for this land too," an ambassador spoke up.

Cato looked up at the mention of Commonwealth technology.

 _A piece of Commonwealth tech-magic in Imperial hands?_ he thought.

 _I can't say no to that_.

"Hm. What kind of technology?" he asked.

One of the men smiled. "May we show you?"

Cato nodded. "Please."

An ambassador clapped his hands and the doors to the room opened. Another Commonwealth man pushed in a cart with a large object in the center covered by a sheet. The man pushed his cart to a stop and pulled the sheet off.

Cato's eyes widened at the sight of the iron machine, with its brutally practical lines and complex mechanical parts.

"What… what is that?" he asked, trying not to sound too surprised.

"A steam engine," a Commonwealth ambassador replied. "The backbone of industry."

Cato was speechless. He could only think of the applications, the meaning this machine could have for the Empire…

"Let me call the Elder Counsel to order…" he said.

* * *

At the same time, in another part of the massive White-Gold Tower, a wizened old man sat in a nearly dark room. His eyes were covered by a fabric blindfold, as if it did anything. He was blind.

But yet, he could see more than most.

Before him was a large and heavy scroll housed in a gilded ivory assembly. An artifact that was paradoxical in its very existence. An artifact outside the currents of time and space.

An Elder Scroll.

The Moth Priest's hands traced over the shifting symbols and colors of the scroll. His fingers could feel the unknowable energies flowing around them.

He lifted his fingers up, still hearing the scroll whispering to him.

And then, he picked up his quill and wrote like a man possessed. Though he could not see what was being written, his hand was being guided by an unseen force. What the scroll whispered to him needed to be told.

 _And so it has been foretold by the Elder Scrolls, that in the last days of the Fourth Era, when the Lords of Steel and Fire begin to remake the world in their image, that the old Dominion, too afraid to fade away, will attempt to sunder Ada-Manta tower, set the Wheels of Lull into motion, and usher in Landfall._

 _Landfall will see the Brass Tower, the God-Machine, emerge from the Warp and end all._

 _But, a warrior who traces his blood to the Last Dragonborn will rise to bring to a close the intrigues of elves and make all things secure._

 _So it has been foretold by the Elder Scrolls._


	14. Chapter 14: The Road to Alinor, Part II

**_A/N- Hello, anyone still with me! I'm sorry this is very, very late. I've been busy with so many other things, but I have not forgotten about this story. Just bare with me! We're getting there. Enjoy and I hope to see you sooner._**

* * *

 _Fort Provider_

 _About four miles outside of Alinor_

 _10:00 PM_

Niurin was a warrior who had fought for the Dominion for the majority of his thirty-two years alive. He had participated in many great battles and many victories. By the time the Commonwealth invaded his home, he had seen action in almost every part of Tamriel. He was certain his next great battle would be in Cyrodiil, when the Dominion decided that working with the Empire was not worth it and decided to just bring them to heel. It almost worked during the Great War.

The Commonwealth had put a hold on those plans, though.

Niurin had seen many engagements in the months following their assault. He saw their weapons, their tactics. He saw how his superiors buckled under the pressure, calling for humiliating retreats.

One time, Niurin's lord called for a full retreat after a pair of the Commonwealth's bulky steel machines crested a hill and pointed their weapons in their direction. Although if he had to be honest, Niurin could not blame him. Every warrior knew to fear the feeling of the ground vibrating under their feet as the machines approached. And to especially fear the terrifying roar of the weapon attached to its front and the death it spewed.

In six months, this war had gone from a series of offensive actions to contain the Commonwealth invaders before they did too much damage to an increasingly desperate defensive war as the invaders captured city after city. The Dominion had lost hundreds of thousands of Mer, its entire naval force, vast tracts of raw material, and had dozens of ancient cities burnt to the ground.

No one talked about it, but everyone knew the Commonwealth would soon be at the walls of Alinor.

Which was why Niurin was here. He and his fellow Mer were the garrison of Fort Provider, a sizable bastion near the city's main road. One of the several forts on the way, meant to secure the main route into Alinor. In reality, the warriors knew that when the Commonwealth did come, they would only be there to buy as much time as possible for the Dominion's leaders to figure something out. Whatever it may be. Most felt it would take literal intervention from the Gods to stop the Commonwealth now. Then again, if the Gods did actually do that, the Commonwealth might end up killing them too. They had a knack for killing, Niurin had to admit.

He sighed and leaned on the battlements, loosely holding his crossbow in one hand. Niurin's eyes scanned the perimeter, but it was hard to see beyond the torch light. He could not discern anything in the woods beyond and heard only the chirps of insects in the trees.

His thoughts drifted elsewhere. Back home, in Alinor. He thought of his wife. It was an arranged marriage, sure, but she was a great woman. He could feel a spark between them from the moment they met. Their time together was cut short by his redeployment to the fort and he sorely wished to get home soon and get to know her even more.

Niurin's thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound.

 _FWIP_

He leaned up and looked around. It certainly was not an insect. He did not know any insect that made a sound like that, too.

 _FWIP_

A short pause.

 _FWIP_

 _FWIP_

It sounded like it was coming from his right, out in the dark beyond the torches. Niurin walked cautiously down the wall, squinting in a vain attempt to see what was making the noise. He stopped at a corner, right by a lit brazier. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see another guard approaching down the wall, probably drawn by the strange noise.

For a second, he thought he could see something move in the dark. Just faintly. Maybe it was a tree branch?

Niurin turned to call to his fellow guard. As he turned, he heard it one more time.

 _FWIP_

As his body moved, he saw the other guard's head jerk suddenly to the left. He made a low grunt and then fell.

Niurin's eyes went wide. His mouth opened to call out when a bullet slammed through the side of his helmet and blew out of his right temple, leaving a pink and red mist hanging in the air for a split second. He was dead before he hit the ground.

* * *

Sergeant Henry Pratt watched the squad's sniper peer up from down the telescopic scope of his suppressed .30-30 caliber lever action rifle.

"Sentries are down," he said in a low voice. "So nice of them to sit in the torchlight and make it even easier to me," he added as he stowed his rifle in the holster across his back.

Captain Jordan Harma nodded quickly. "Nice work. Let's move."

The eight man team of Commonwealth Commandos moved across the dark, windswept plain towards the fortress in a low, swift crouch. Pratt hefted his Mark I Autorifle into a low ready, butt stock to his shoulder but without aiming down the sights.

The Mark I was a marvel of Commonwealth engineering. It was a simple looking weapon, slightly smaller in length than an average rifle with a fairly wide wooden stock, which had a hole in it for placing the shooter's thumb near the rear grip. Attached to the stock was the gunmetal grey receiver, which had a detachable twenty-five round magazine.

What made the Mark I special was what its full name implied. It could be fired continuously as long as it had ammunition to expend. Really, it was amazing. The fully automatic power of a Reciprocator in a man-portable package.

The public knew about the Reciprocator and similar weapons, but the idea of a fully automatic rifle was absurd to them. Even the majority of the military had only heard that the Autorifle was still in the prototype stages and would not see combat for a year. The Commandos had been utilizing the Autorifle for at least five months now.

They stacked up against the stone wall. The men knew to stay out of the torchlight, despite their dark battledress, which was specifically treated to be as dull as possible.

The Commando uniform was a far cry from the regular trooper's uniform. It was much less ostentatious, with a simple, but thick hooded field jacket with a black mask that covered their whole face, with only the eyes visible behind a dark visor. Over that was a stab proof vest with pouches to hold extra ammunition and other items, finished off by standard canvas trousers and leather boots.

Using hand signals, Harma ordered corporal Jonas Wentz to launch a rope and grappling hook attached to his pack over a section of the fort's wall. The Commandos wordlessly grabbed onto the rope and hoisted themselves up, quickly and quietly.

They moved down the wall as one, still crouch-walking. There was a break in the wall where a stone staircase lead up. One group of four quickly moved across the opening to the other side while the rest stayed behind, pressed against the battlements.

The Commandos were prepared to move forward when they heard two voices having a conversation and moving up the stone steps.

Without hesitation, the two groups pressed themselves as low as they could while two men on either side drew their combat knives and crouched down, looking as if they were spring loaded.

"Well, I suppose you're right. But I do think we should ask the captain to-"

The Altmer did not finish his sentence. As soon as he and his partner reached the top of the stairs, the Commandos hiding in the darkness jumped up and clamped a hand around their mouth and nose.

Surprised, the warriors did not resist at first, which gave their two attackers enough time to plunge their knives into their bodies. The first commando found a way under the elf's breastplate, striking at his midsection. The second quickly stabbed his opponent in the unprotected flank before burying his knife into the side of his neck.

The two unfortunate elves were dead quickly. Their killers slowly and carefully lowered their bodies so they would not make too much noise.

With that out of the way, Harma held up two fingers and drew a circle with them. The men knew that this meant it was time to enact their plan.

They split up into four pairs and each pair took a position on one of the four walls. This created a killzone where the enemy would be exposed to fire on all sides.

Harma and Pratt ended up together on the western wall. In the fort's yard, around twenty elves sat around by campfires or braziers. Pratt could see his fellow commandos picking out their targets in the low light. All they had to do now was wait for Harma to take the first shot.

The captain squinted down his iron sights. He let out a breath and pulled the trigger.

His shot hit an elf through the back, sending him face forward into the fire he was facing.

The loud gunshot shattered the stillness of the night. Chaos began to break out in the yard, which was not helped by the other commandos opening fire.

Many elves were struck down in their seats. Those who managed to stand up frantically scanned around, trying to find who was shooting at them.

Pratt picked a target, an elf who frantically waved around his crossbow. Pratt sent a bullet that pierced his gut, but the elf remained standing, albeit staring down at his wound. A second shot through his heart dropped him. Pratt had to remember that the 6.5mm ammunition used by the Autorifle was less powerful than a standard .303 round. He was taught to "double tap" his targets because of this.

Several elves poured out of the keep, crossbows in hand. The commandos posted over the door from the keep cut them down in short order. Pratt paused to drop a magazine and shove a new one into his rifle, but by the time he pulled the charging handle to load a new shot, it was all over.

A few more shots rang out, mostly to silence the wounded elves moaning in pain. All that remained were corpses, drifting gun smoke, and pools of blood.

The men were silent for a few moments. Harma stood up and waved for the men to join him in the courtyard. In a conventional war, as war had been fought for millennia across Tamriel, the action of taking a fort was an arduous undertaking that took days at a time. Now, eight men armed with the most advanced engineering in the world secured a fortress in under ten minutes.

With his men forming a semicircle around him, Harma took off his mask and took a deep breath of the chilly air.

"That was good work by all of you. Absolutely textbook. Now, we're just about done for the night. Let's get these bodies cleaned up and secure the interior."

Harma slipped his mask back over his head and adjusted it. His men moved out without being ordered and began to haul the bodies out of the firelight and into the dark.

This was the scene across Summerset. The forts that provided some measure of protection had all fallen, their garrison ruthlessly and efficiently slaughtered. Now, there was nothing but the ancient walls standing between Alinor and the Commonwealth.

* * *

 _The Gladstone Reach_

 _Twenty miles from Alinor_

 _2:05 PM_

Aicail grimaced at the fog before him while he laid his arms out on the ground before him.

He and his fellow warriors had dug these pathetic defense trenches the night before when scouts came running into camp and gave reports of a massive Rynn army heading towards their position.

They worked all night to dig out their trenches to an acceptable depth and now they waited. Aicail knew that the Rynn were coming with fire and metal to bring death. But he knew he had to hold the line for as long as possible. His family was in Alinor. His wife and son, his brother and his family. His parents. He had to defend them from the Rynn coming to get them.

Today could not have been a worse day to fight a battle. The air was cool and fog had settled down during the night. It reduced visibility to only a few dozen yards. Aicail just hoped the Rynn would arrive after the sun came to burn away the fog.

The minutes ticked by, ever so slowly. Aicail checked the mechanisms of his crossbow and the construction of his bolts to ensure they would break up in flight. He pulled back on the drawstring several times, assuring himself that it could deliver a powerful blow.

Then, he began to hear something in the distance. It sounded like a thumping of many drums.

The Rynn were not ones for such theatrics. Could it be one of their war machines? A "tank," as he heard some reports call them?

No, this sound was unified and endlessly repeating. More minutes ticked by and it only got louder.

He began to make out shapes in the fog. Shapes of man sized, armored forms.

His stomach twisted. They were coming.

An officer cried out to stand to and make ready. Hundreds of crossbows lined up on the edge of the trench as warriors nocked bolts back.

The shapes began to emerge into view, out of the fog. They were large, as tall as an Altmer in full armor. But their limbs were… wrong. They were very thin and spindly. The torso was equally skeletal. The entire armor was golden-bronze hued and the armor featured a flat, faceless helmet that appeared to have no visible visor or eye slits.

"What are those things?" someone asked.

"They're men in armor," someone replied, unsure of himself.

"Why are they so thin? What kind of armor is that?" another called out.

Aicail squinted to get a better view. Some of the men were carrying their machine-weapons, the "firearms" they favored. But others had only long, wicked looking blades in place of arms or hands.

The men were marching in near perfect unison, in a pattern that could not be achieved by even the most superbly drilled Altmer soldiers.

As they neared, the officers began to call for firing positions. There were orders to fire across the trench line and in an instant, Aicail added his bolt to the hundreds that flew through the air towards the metal clad men.

He watched the volley sail through the air and watched the moment of impact.

And nothing happened.

Absolutely nothing. The bolts all hit their marks, but the marching men kept moving. Some bolts even managed to pierce the armor, but the men still moved, even with bolts sticking out of limbs or chests or faces.

A hurried order was given to reload. As Aicail shoved a new bolt into place, he thought about how the Commonwealth attackers were inexorable, marching like the ancient Dwemer machines he read about once.

His eyes went wide as he put two and two together.

"Those aren't men, they're machines! Walking machines!" he cried out.

Stunned gasps and cries went up the line.

"How is that possible?"

"Can we stop them?"

"No! That's impossible!"

The panic seeping through the trenches was amplified when the steadily walking machines broke out into a run towards their lines.

Panicked bolts flew out at will, despite the officers calling for disciplined fire.

Volley after volley went down towards the machines, but only a few briefly stumbled before continuing to move. Even fewer were actually disabled.

Aicail looked down to put another bolt into place. By the time he looked up, they were upon him.

The ones with firearms opened fire with rapid launches of the metal slugs they used. They quickly cut down dozens of Altmer that desperately attempted to fire back with their crossbows. Then, another type of machines appeared, using a large metal weapon to launch fire that licked over the tightly packed groups of Altmer.

Screams and cries punctured the air. Warriors were desperately clawing at the back walls of the trench in an attempt to climb out. Then, the machines with the bladed arms began to jump down into the trench.

Their blades moved with unnatural grace. The golden weapons carved through flesh and bone, cleaving off limbs and spilling blood up and down the trench. Aicail saw an elf drop his crossbow and draw the sword at his hip. He shouted out and bought the sword down onto a machine's neck. All it did was produce a loud _bang_ and get the machine's attention.

The elf found two blades buried into his chest. The machine withdrew its appendages and left the attacker to bleed to death on the dirt.

It approached Aicail, blades at its sides. Aicail fired off a bolt that impacted with its head, but simply bounced off.

He shouted and ran, dropping his crossbow in the process. Aicail sprinted down the trench, past his fellow warriors as they were slaughtered like sheep in the dirty confines of the trench. He saw one Mer getting his stomach sliced open by a blade. Three more warriors burned to death as a flame-throwing machine spewed fire in their direction.

The machines were everywhere. Hundreds of them filled up the trench. No one was fighting them anymore- it was a rush to escape the massacre.

One was in front of him. It decapitated a warrior with a single swipe before turning to face him. Fear gripped Aicail. He felt sweat drip down his brow and his bladder empty.

The machine held out its blades.

"No, please!" Aicail managed to cry out before a single blade was plunged into his stomach.

The machine lifted him up off his feet as he cried out in pain. The other blade was driven into his flank, where it stabbed repeatedly while moving down his midsection.

Aicail felt his body lighten considerably as his lower half was separated from his torso and his innards spilled out onto the ground below. The machine casually tossed him aside off its blade.

He coughed up blood and saw his legs and pelvic area splayed a few feet away. A trail of blood and gore was between the two parts of his body. Aicail hacked up a spray of blood as the sounds of death and chaos faded around him. He looked at the machine that killed him. It had found another victim, an unarmed elf that valiantly attempted to grab hold of its mechanical limbs and push them away. It was, of course, a futile effort as the machine responded to his attempts to stave off its kill by shoving a bladed arm through the screaming mouth of its victim.

Aicail's last thoughts were that he hoped that these machines would not find his family.

* * *

Adrian Arnaldus sat on his cot, a small wooden table before him. His Holt pistol was sitting on the table, disassembled for cleaning. Adrian pressed .380 rounds into metal magazines, setting aside each one before picking up another empty one.

There was a rustling of fabric at his tent door. Someone wanted to come in.

"Come on in," he said.

Mira pushed open the tent flap, carrying a steaming pot of tea. She smiled softly.

"They were heating up some tea in the officer's mess. Figured you may want some."

She motioned to a chair pulled up to the table. "Can I sit?"

Adrian nodded. "Go ahead."

Mira took a seat and produced two teacups from a side pocket. She poured out the steaming drinks in silence before looking up at him.

"So…" she began.

"So?" Adrian asked.

"I was just thinking…"

"About what happened on leave?" he finished for her.

Mira smirked. "Yeah."

"You do know we can't continue… that. We could both get kicked out of the Army."

She nodded. "I know, sir. It's just that-"

Mira sighed heavily. "I just want us to head to Alinor and get this done with. Then we can go home and…"

"Pick up where he left off?" he said with a smile.

She laughed in reply. "Something like that."

Mira got up to leave, but paused. "Oh, wait. The officers are meeting in fifteen minutes. General Zigus has a announcement he wants to make.


End file.
